


Dysthymia

by Briarwitched



Series: Of Madness and Mammals [2]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Not!Your!Parent!Yassen!(TM), On the Run, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-01-06 23:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 45
Words: 146,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18398981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briarwitched/pseuds/Briarwitched
Summary: (Sequel to Malaise) Yassen always knew his mid-life crisis would be spectacular. Breaking out of prison was supposed to make things easier. If evading every agency on the planet wasn't hard enough, underestimating Alex's withdrawal, escalating drug use, and physical health's capacity to worsen indefinitely certainly didn't help matters. This is what he gets for getting attached.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm baaaaack...
> 
> As promised, here is the sequel to Malaise. At first, the chapters are going to be about half the size as they used to be until I finish the rough draft and structural edits. As always, let me know if you have any questions, concerns, or general commentary! I'm always looking to improve my writing, so if you see anything that seems incorrect or poorly executed, feel free to let me know as well. :)
> 
> And yes, I ended up changing the name. Sorry for any confusion.

Yassen readjusted the rear view mirror before returning his eyes to the road. Alex dozed in the front passenger seat of the car, half hunched around the belt Yassen forced him to secure before falling back to sleep.

  
Drumming his hands on the steering wheel, Yassen double checked the time. Just about three in the morning. Infrequent headlights carved through the darkness, usually moving in the opposite direction. Firmly sticking to the posted speed, Yassen quickly searched his memory for any hint that the car was in less than perfect condition. None of the rear lights were out, none of the tires seemed odd, nothing that should stand out to a policeman. While the identification Yassen had stolen from the owner of the car would stand up to casual inspection if he were pulled over, it wouldn’t take long for any officer worth his salt to determine the ruse. Being stopped would still require he fight his way out and he only had three bullets left in the clip he’d stolen from the British soldier in the van.

  
Yassen grimaced. A gunfight would only draw attention to them. It was far better to play it cautious while putting as much distance between them and the abandoned helicopter as possible.

  
As soon as Yassen had landed behind the woods of a small, coastal Spanish town, he’d stashed a sleeping Alex in a sheltered sightseeing point along the cliffs and canvassed the area on foot. Late in the evening as it was and given the Gibraltar prison’s lack of traditional inmate uniforms, he’d been relatively safe from recognition or attention as he strolled. He’d staked out a small, local pub until a man roughly Yassen’s height and description wandered out alone to his practical black sedan. Killing the man and concealing his body had bought him some time, more so than they would have had Yassen left him alive to report the theft, but Yassen couldn’t help but watch the clock as the minutes ticked by.

  
MI6 had to know that he’d escaped Scorpia’s custody by now, unless Walker’s operatives had both the inclination and the opportunity to retrieve the bodies of their fallen comrades. He doubted it, which meant that by this hour, the British intelligence agency had more than enough time to work out what happened. All the major transportation centers within travel distance would be heavily monitored. With Scorpia’s support, Yassen and Alex would already be ghosts, but on their own and unprepared, there was a decent chance they could still be apprehended.

  
Yassen had deliberately touched down somewhere well within the travel range of this particular helicopter, hoping that MI6 would assume that he’d try to put as much distance between the prison and himself as possible by air. Generally, such a move would be considered smart. Instead, Yassen knew the value of behaving erratically during an escape: more than once, he’d slipped out from under his pursuers noses by simply refusing to do the most logical-- and thus most expected-- thing.

  
Alex slept on. Probably would for at least another four or five hours. Exhaustion was the most likely culprit, if not the heavy amount of sedatives still in his system. The last few hours had been rather taxing and Alex was far from healthy.

  
Yassen felt strained himself, though it wasn’t anything he wasn’t prepared to push through. If anything, it irritated him. While he’d kept himself in shape and prepared himself to act, the truth of the matter was that he’d been out of the field for over a year. He hadn’t gotten rusty, per se, but it would take him a while to adapt to the sudden spurts of activity required of a man on the run.

  
He yawned absently and glanced down at the radio. Alex was too far out of it to care about the noise and it might help keep Yassen awake. Another few hours would see them arrive in Cordoba, after which Yassen could catch a quick nap. A random station would be perfect in the meantime, he thought, reaching for the dial. Classical music was ubiquitous, so he might even find something he liked. If Alex woke, Yassen would let him set it to whatever he wanted, though Yassen suspected that Alex was more likely to default to listening to his iPod if he really--

  
The iPod.

Yassen swore aloud and pulled onto the shoulder of the road sharply. How had he forgotten? He should have left it behind in the van before they even began running.

  
Had all those months in prison really made him so soft?

  
The only possible way Alex could have such a device was if it was provided to him by MI6. While Yassen had no earthly clue as to how it had made it into the prison with him, he knew that the odds that it contained some sort of GPS tracking was high. MI6 would be on them in a heartbeat if Yassen screwed up like this again.

  
Alex let out a grunt of surprise as he felt Yassen tug at his pockets. Swatting him away, the boy straightened in his seat and exhaled in sleepy frustration. “Whaddaya wan’? I’m tired--”

  
“Your iPod, Alex,” Yassen snapped, still trying to reach into the boy’s jeans pockets. “It probably has a tracker.”

  
Alex scowled, not quite opening his eyes as he tried to twist away. “Why? They knew where I was the whole mission--”

  
Yassen sat back and folded his arms. “We can’t take that chance. Throw it out.”

  
Alex sat up, eyes blazing. “No. It’s mine. Smithers gave it to me. He would have told me if it had a tracker so I could call for help.”

  
“Do you want to go back to prison?” Yassen demanded.

  
Alex glowered at him, biting his lip. “It’s mine,” he repeated at last.

  
Yassen sighed. “I’ll buy you a new one. Toss it,” he ordered, knowing that Alex would object. It wasn’t really about the music, after all.

  
“Where are we?” Alex asked instead, glancing out the dark windows at the indistinguishable landscape. Lights flickered in the distance, lining the highway here and there, in small reminders of the dozen or so towns dotting the area.

  
“Spain.” Yassen didn’t budge, just sat there with his foot on the brake and drilling holes in the side of Alex’s head. “Alex.”

  
“Fine,” Alex snarled, yanking the small silver device from his right pocket and rolling down his window. He tossed it out. Yassen heard the plastic casing impact against the pavement. “There. Now I have nothing but the clothes on my back. Happy?”

  
Yassen rolled them back onto the highway, eager to get going before any well-meaning motorists stopped to see if everything was okay. As a solitary male, he didn’t normally have to worry as much about such annoyances but with Alex in the car, he couldn’t count of people’s distrust of strangers to win out over their concern for a stranded child. “Go back to sleep. We’ll stop in another few hours and rent a room. It won’t be long.”

  
Alex groaned and rubbed the sides of his forehead with his fingers. “Can we get some painkillers? My head hurts.”

  
“I’ll grab some when I stop for petrol,” Yassen told him. Another short beat. “How are the hallucinations?”

  
“Gone for now,” Alex told him, settling back against his seat. He shut his eyes. Yassen thought he’d slipped back into sleep when he spoke. “Yassen?”

  
He glanced away from the road. “Hm?”

  
“Are we dead?”

  
“No.”

  
“Are you sure?”

  
“Yes, Alex. I’m certain that neither of us are dead.”

  
Alex gave only a short hum in response, clearly unconvinced. At least he was entertaining the idea. Yassen supposed that was an improvement.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday! As always, let me know if you see anything odd, incorrect, or confusing. :) I very much love reading everyone's comments, so feel free to drop me a line over anything you care to mention. I'm notoriously terrible at responding, but I promise I read all of them and they really do mean a lot.

Dawn cracked sluggishly along the horizon of Cordoba, spilling it's light like a runny yolk. Yassen preferred arriving early. The city was only just beginning to rustle to life, lights flickering on reluctantly in the windows. Those who observed them were bleary eyed with last night's sleep. It had been a few years since Yassen had been through the city, though he found himself less cheered by the sight than he expected. Normally, he took a moment or two to admire all of the stone architecture surrounding the historic city as well as the many monuments and statues that lined the public areas. Perhaps his lack of enthusiasm could be attributed to his time in prison. Every time he saw white stucco now, he was reminded uncomfortably of the sanitized little petri dish of a world he'd been trapped in for over a year.

He stopped at the first hotel he recognized. It was five stories tall, set in the heart of the city, and tucked between a pastry shop and a music store. It was nothing luxurious and the rooms were quite small, but the staff was discreet and the parking was underground, offering a back staircase to the main hallway that was protected from street view.

Alex hardly stirred when Yassen uttered a quick "wait here" and ran inside to arrange for the room. It took a minute or two of persuading to get the woman at the desk to rent to him since check in wasn't for another few hours, but soon enough Yassen had a key in hand. Once the car had been parked neatly out of sight, Yassen more or less dragged the exhausted boy from it and up to the third floor. It was already memorable enough that Yassen had checked in at such a strange time, but if any of the staff noticed that neither of them had luggage, they'd look even more suspicious.

Yassen swiftly locked the room door behind them before looking around. Twin beds stared back at them, covered in seafoam green comforters that looked soft and inviting to his tired eyes. A wide set of windows dominated the far wall, half obscured by floor to ceiling drapes. Landscape paintings hung neatly from the walls, flanking a small television that was a couple years out of date. Private, clean, and quiet. Perfect.

The assassin steered Alex to the bed closest to the door, fighting the temptation to lay down for a quick nap himself. "I'm going out to take care of a few things. I'll be back soon. Stay in the room."

Alex yawned and rubbed his temples, dropping onto the bed without bothering to kick off his trainers. He wrapped the blanket around himself immediately and curled onto his side, but Yassen made out a sound that could have been "okay".

Yassen left, securing the door carefully behind him and checking the handgun tucked into his belt beneath his shirt. Leaving Alex alone was risky, given the conspicuous nature of his hallucinations, but there was no helping it. Yassen had to pass a fair number of security cameras between here and the bank. With the alert out for them both, being seen together would only increase the odds they'd be identified. There was simply too much to do before leaving the city for Yassen to risk the authorities showing up too soon.

An hour later, Yassen had swapped cars and pulled enough money out of one of his liquid cash accounts to cover the next few days of expenses. A nearby mall offered just about everything he needed, even if half the shops had yet to open. Guessing Alex's sizes, he grabbed a change of clothes, a set of bags, and some toiletries for the both of them before stopping just long enough to purchase a burner phone from a small electronics kiosk. Phone in hand, he quickly began dialing the numbers he'd so carefully embedded in his memory. His walking pace remained steady, if slightly agitated. Just another man rushing through some irritating early morning errands.

The first number went unanswered.

Yassen frowned. It could mean any number of things if his primary European identity broker didn't pick up. It had been over three years since he'd contacted him, so the odds that he'd changed his number were comfortable. At any rate, Yassen had plenty of time to get ahold of Ferri for his long term solution. Now was the time to focus on him immediate problems.

His second call was answered promptly. "This is San Luca," an impatient voice snapped in Spanish.

"I need to order a custom print," Yassen told him, responding in the same language without preamble. "A small canvas. Very intricate."

San Luca's voice smoothed. "Of course. How many?"

"Two." Yassen glanced at a small coffee shop and bakery across the street from him, changing course. "It'll need to be a rush delivery."

"Are you available this afternoon? We can sort out the details at the shop. Depending on your specifications, we may be able to have you on your way by tonight."

"That's fine," Yassen told him and quickly ended the call.

O

Alex woke to a throbbing headache and the smell of ham and cheese as Yassen dropped a paper bag on the bedside table nearest his head. He groaned and sat up, swallowing painfully around his dry throat. Yassen must have noticed the face he made because Alex found a bottle of orange juice pressed into his hand a second later. "What time is it?"

"Nearly half past eight." Yassen walked over the wide windows streaming light into the room and stared down at the street below. He glanced back at Alex and waved a hand at the bag. "Eat your bocadillo. You missed dinner last night."

Alex scoffed and pressed the chilled plastic bottle to his forehead. Of course that would be Yassen's main concern. God forbid Alex skip a fucking meal.

Truth be told his stomach was growling, but something about the smell made his stomach roll. Actually…

Alex staggered to his feet, nearly tripping over the blanket that crashed to floor alongside him and twisted around his legs. He clawed his way into the bathroom a split second before he vomited up everything in his stomach. It wasn't much. He slumped on the cold blue and white patina tile.

"How do you feel?" Yassen asked from the doorway. In his hand was a small flip phone, which he seemed to be tapping at the rate of a thousand words per second despite having his attention seemingly on Alex. Alex found himself begrudgingly envious.

"Like I just crawled out of Hell's arse," he grumbled. "Where'd you put the aspirin?"

Yassen disappeared for a second, fingers still tapping away. He reappeared and tossed the rattling bottle to him before dropping a small shopping bag onto the floor beside him. "Clean yourself up. We'll need to take pictures for our new passports before we leave the city."

Alex swallowed four pills dry without bothering to even attempt to get up off the floor. "Don't you ever sleep?"

"On occasion," Yassen said, shooting Alex an amused glance.

"Well, go do it now," Alex told him, twisting just enough to get comfortable. He glanced up and, spotting a freshly folded towel draped along the porcelain tub, grabbed it to tuck underneath his head as a pillow. "I'm going to stay here, hating everything."

Yassen shoved the phone into his pocket. "Sleep isn't such a bad idea, actually. Don't leave the room. Wake me if you need something."

Alex grimaced. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not going anywhere." He adjusted his towel pillow and wished the aspirin would fucking do something already. "Are you sure we're not in hell?"

"Completely."

He listened to Yassen's soft footsteps move into the room, the springs of the bed creaking slightly as he settled in for some sleep. Alex kept his gaze focused loosely on the side of the toilet. While his stomach had stopped threatening to revolt, he still couldn't quite muster the energy to get up and rinse his mouth out. Hopefully, his body would get with the program once he'd officially missed his morning medications.

It was the first time he'd been awake enough to think since they'd left the prison last night.

God. Last night. It felt like years had passed, yet Alex knew it had been maybe fifteen hours since he had sat in the warden's bathroom, pouring over a handwritten note Dr. Wood had smuggled to him and wondering if he had died all over again. Twelve hours since the guards summoned them from the library. Ten since Scorpia attacked their van…

Feeling his breathing speed up, he shook his head. Better not dwell too long on those details.

Alex chewed on his lip as he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. The plaster was faded and bit cracked, but otherwise intact. It was even a little charming in an older building kind of way.

He sighed. Felt no regret (yet) for deciding to trust Yassen with both the iPod and the note, to let the assassin decide if he were living or dead, if it was all a test or not. When he'd decided to trust Yassen in prison, he had thought it would be like outsourcing his reasoning and decision-making; slow, well thought out choices with plenty of logic to back it up. In reality, it was more like striking a match next to a powder keg- instantly, everything seemed to happen at once. Within the span of a few hours, Yassen had negotiated a deal with MI6 for them to stay together, double crossed Scorpia to steal a helicopter for their escape, and successfully hidden them in the heart of Spain, not counting the impressive body count he'd left in their wake.

All that was left was to decide was if it was all true. If he wasn't dead.

Alex squirmed on the floor. MI6 poisoning him for their own benefit wasn't remotely out of the realm of his imagination. They'd cheerfully strap a bomb to his chest and drop him out of an airplane onto a children's hospital if they thought it would help a mission. It just still felt so… convenient, for him to believe they were the cause of all of his problems. Like he was cheating at something or trying to take a shortcut from his own bad decisions.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. Maybe he was still dead and had simply failed the test. After all, he had foisted the responsibility of making decisions for himself off on Yassen. That probably wasn't the sort of reformation hell had in mind for him. Maybe Yassen firmly believed they were alive because he was the one who couldn't face the truth. Maybe they were in a slightly different hell than before.

If so, he decided grumpily, then they had nice tile.

He pushed himself onto his elbows and grabbed the shopping bag Yassen had set beside him. Digging through it, he unearthed a travel set of toiletries and change of clothes, vaguely in the same genre of what the prison had provided, built on the fashion philosophy of lots of solid colors and little personality. In this case, a vanilla colored sweater with a matching t-shirt and another pair of blue jeans. With a sigh, he forced himself to stand and shut the door, busying himself with showering and brushing his teeth in order to avoid thinking.

Either he was dead or he wasn't. He spat a mouthful of minty toothpaste into the sink, watching it swirl in the eddies created by the running tap and down the drain. All he could do was hope that he figured it out and soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Seriously. It makes my day. :)

Yassen pressed his hands against his eye sockets as he listened to the water run. Sleeping was going to be more of a challenge than he'd thought. Every time he'd start to drift off, some small noise from the bathroom would summon his attention to Alex. Not that he thought it deliberate: Alex was being reasonably quiet. It was a combination of Yassen's training and his paranoia that Alex would hurt himself in the middle of a hallucination that prevented him from completely relaxing.

That would simply have to change. Yassen forced himself to clear his mind and removed his hands from his face, taking a deep breath as he did so. It wasn't as if he could expect total silence or avoid Alex being around him at all times. Especially not until he worked out the logistics of how they were to leave the country.

San Luca wasn't the most talented forger Yassen had ever met, but his work was adequate and he was the closest option available on such short notice. Ferri was his usual first stop: as a legitimate identity broker, his work was thorough and could stand up to most forms of scrutiny. Good enough to start a new life. With Ferri not answering, San Luca's passports would serve as a temporary stopgap: just thorough enough to get them to Paris. Once he was there, he'd seek out Ferri personally for a long term solution. He'd already texted San Luca the details he'd need to begin the process: basic physical information that described the both of them as well as their ages. Their pictures could be added once they arrived at his printing shop.

With any luck, Yassen would have them out of the country within forty eight hours of escaping. Any longer and the authorities had enough time to draw their net closed around them, assuming they figured out that they hadn't left Spain yet.

Yassen jerked awake at the sound of Alex rummaging through the paper bag on the table. A glance at the clock told him he'd managed to drift off for about a half hour.

Stifling a groan, he sat up. He'd pushed through worse before; he was simply out of practice. So long as he remained conscientious of his decisions and their surroundings, it should be fine if he put off sleep for another day or two.

Alex glanced over at him, chewing on his cold pastry with his hair dripping in his eyes. "Do you always wake up like that?"

Yassen grabbed his burner phone from the table and raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like a robot powering on," Alex muttered around a mouthful of congealed cheese. "You just open your eyes without yawning or anything. It's creepy."

Yassen snorted. "Finish that and dry your hair. We need to go in an hour."

"Already?" Alex froze mid-bite. "We just got here… what? Three hours ago?"

"And we're still within the first forty eight hours after escaping. Our trail is fresh," Yassen informed him. Spotting Alex's grimace, he added, "I promise we'll slow down once we have new identities, but for now we need to stay on the move."

Alex stared at his half finished food before setting it down atop the empty bag. "And then what?"

Yassen paused, considering him. It was difficult to tell if Alex was still clinging to the idea that they were in the afterlife. It might also be less than thrilling for the child to hear Yassen's plan to stash him in a boarding school as soon as the hallucinations were under control. Yet, if his thoughts were starting to turn towards his future, Yassen wouldn't complain. "We'll see when we get there."

O

Alex panted in short bursts, hunched over in the front seat with his seat belt digging into his chest, willing his breaths to even out. His thoughts seemed to spin. Why did this have to happen now? They had to hurry! His stupid problems were going to get them both caught. "Sorry… I know…. We have to… go…."

One, two, three, four….

Yassen shook his head, eyes a little tight. He'd parked the car in a small lot across from a busy row of shops, one arm resting against the steering as though completely at ease. Alex didn't miss the way his eyes scanned the face and gait of everyone who walked past on the street. "It's fine. We have a few minutes yet."

It certainly didn't feel fine. If anything, Alex suspected that Yassen was understating the threat in order to placate him. MI6 or the Spanish authorities were probably right around the corner, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to snatch them up-

He shut his eyes, forcing himself to push the thought away.

It was fine, everything was fine, it would be fine….

It took another fifteen minutes for his panic attack to finish up. He drew in a few last ragged breaths and sat up, digging around in one of the bags for the aspirin Yassen had bought him.

The assassin watched him carefully as Alex shook another four pills into his hand and swallowed them. "How many of those have you had?"

"I don't know," Alex snapped. "Ten since I woke up in the room? This makes fourteen."

"You should slow down. It's not healthy for your liver."

"Who cares?" Alex scowled at him, irritation flooding the parts of him that had only just drained of panic. "My head is killing me. There's a reason I got hooked on painkillers instead of party drugs, you know. Look, I think the panic attack is over now. Can we just get on with it?"

Yassen didn't budge. "That one took about twice as long as your others. Are you sure you're fine?"

"I just have to take a picture for a passport, right?" Alex wrapped his arms around himself, despite the warm sweater he currently wore. It wasn't even cold out, yet Alex felt like he couldn't keep his body heat trapped within the fabric. "No one looks happy in their passport photo, they look like they've been waiting in a queue for ages. It'll be perfect."

Yassen inclined his head and opened his door. "Very well. I'm sure I don't need to say this, but let me do all the talking."

Alex shrugged and followed, slamming his door shut before joining Yassen on the street. A few minutes later they stood in front of a printing shop in the heart of town. Judging from the outside of the pale brick building, Alex wasn't impressed; he was used to far more exotic criminal masterminds, after all. Perhaps that was the point. Even he wasn't inclined to give it a second look and he already knew what was there. While the location was fairly central in terms of shopping, the banners and flyers in the window were just a little too faded to claim that the business was a raging success. A sleepy middle aged woman with her salt and pepper hair piled into a loose bun atop her head manned the till, while brightly colored brochures, workstations, and printers lined the rest of the interior.

Yassen nodded to the woman and went straight past the counter to a hallway Alex hadn't noticed until they were upon it. Warm, artificial light illuminated the cramped space. Yassen pushed open a door into a backroom crammed full of printers, ordered small to large, with various inks and stamps stacked neatly on the metal shelves lining the walls beside them.

A man about the same age as the woman glanced up from where he was carefully manipulating a series of forms on his computer. His dark hair was balding at the crown of his head, while his shoulders hunched as though caving in to the force of his suspenders. "Ah, Gregorovich. I haven't seen you in some time," he greeted in Spanish. He spared a glance at Alex, eyebrows raising, though he declined to comment.

"San Luca. I haven't had business in the area for quite some time," Yassen replied with a nod. "Are they nearly done?"

"Two passports, as agreed." San Luca turned to face them and nodded to a small digital camera he'd mounted in front of a plain blue photographer's backdrop. "All we need are the final photos before I make my final revisions." He glanced at Alex again. "Will you two be traveling together?"

Alex smiled at the man, careful to keep his expression pleasant and uncomprehending, or at least as much as he could with a massive headache raging behind his temples. He had no intention of cluing either of them into the fact that he spoke Spanish fluently from his time living in Barcelona with Ian.

Yassen nodded. "What's the concern?"

"I don't do families or sets, you know," San Luca told him. "Too many threads to tie together. It's just as well, since the boy looks nothing like you. It simply means you'll want a notarized letter from his parents authorizing your identity to move him across borders and to make emergency medical decisions on his behalf. Most ports of travel require it nowadays and it can be quite difficult to talk around. I simply thought I should mention the issue, given that you've never made this kind of request before."

Alex wondered if many assassins made a habit of travelling with children. It seemed unlikely, but then again, looking back on his most treasured childhood holidays, he was pretty sure Ian had used him as a cover on at least a dozen small missions. If it wasn't for Alex's memories of seeing his uncle wrestle a man with a gun or having to grab a suitcase from a mobster on a snowboard, the vast amounts of unsupervised time he'd had in strange countries might have clued him in. Most people don't insist on bringing children along on an expensive vacation in the Alps and then ignore them for most of it. It probably wasn't a new strategy for intelligence agencies; he'd essentially done the same thing for the FBI in Florida. After all, adults looked far less suspicious with their kids milling about them.

They'd gone on a lot of holidays when Alex was small. At least a half dozen a year.

Alex swallowed to cover the bitterness welling in his chest. How wonderful to realize he'd built two mediocre spy careers on his age.

Yassen sighed ever so slightly. "Will such a letter be complicated?"

San Luca snorted. "It'll take me less than ten minutes. They tend not to inspect them very closely. I just thought you should be aware of the need to have one. Would you like me to make any travel arrangements for you?"

Yassen shook his head. "I won't be going far." He hesitated, before continuing. "Do you still work with Ferri? His number has changed since I spoke with him last."

San Luca peered at him over his glasses for a moment. "Ah, you have been out of the area for a while. Ferri closed his Paris shop and moved to Las Vegas, of all places. I can get you the address, but I heard that he isn't taking calls."

Yassen's eyes narrowed. "Why the sudden move?"

"Well, with Scorpia being as difficult to work with these days…." San Luca trailed off. "I'm considering a change of scenery myself, but my wife hates the idea. Too far from the grandchildren."

Yassen's eyes met Alex's as the Spaniard returned to his work. He nodded, wearily, understanding the look he got immediately. We need to talk later. He shivered, wishing his sweater was just a little bit thicker. The last thing he wanted to do was explain everything that had happened in the last year, but Yassen had just double crossed Scorpia to break them out of prison. The least Alex could do was answer some questions that could keep them alive.

Just out of sight, Julius burst into cackling laughter, lifting his gun.

Alex let his eyes flutter shut. Not now. Please not now.

After another moment of quiet typing, San Luca gestured them towards the backdrop one at a time to have their pictures taken. When Alex stepped up, San Luca nodded approvingly and made a correction to the passport on the screen. "You should have mentioned he looks so young for his age," he told Yassen. "He can easily pass for thirteen, maybe even twelve. Should I make the corrections?"

The assassin flicked a glance at Alex, spotting his sudden furious glower, but nodded regardless. Alex knew it was a good decision tactically-speaking: the more variables they could change between Alex Rider and whoever the hell he'd be pretending to be would only increase their odds of escaping detection. Any travelers matching their descriptions were probably on some kind of alert and would face close scrutiny by officials. On the other hand- a much bigger hand- he was furious.

Not just younger, but two whole years younger! Almost three!

His arms folded of their own accord. It's not my fault I look like such a bloody little kid. If MI6 hadn't fucking poisoned me, I'd probably be at least as tall as James by now. At least.

He glared at the back of the Spaniard's head the entire time it took their passports to print. Sulking only made him feel more like a little child, but he couldn't help himself. He turned his vitriol on Yassen as soon as he realized that the twitching of his face and sudden glance at the ceiling was the man suppressing his amusement.

"I need to see you dead. I'm gonna shoot you. I'm gonna do it now."

Alex froze, Julius's voice echoing like thunder through him. The words sounded exactly as they had when he'd screamed it to him atop the Sciences building at Brooklands. Stiffly, he wrapped his arms around himself and looked at Yassen. The other man didn't seem at all bothered where he stood looking over San Luca's shoulder, nodding every time he was consulted on something. If Yassen hadn't heard anything, Alex was definitely in the throes of a hallucination.

"You killed my father!"

This was new. Julius had never spoken before, just laughed out of sight.

He took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly to the count of four. He couldn't lash out, couldn't hide, couldn't shout back. He had to keep it together and ignore Julius until they had the passports. Surely it wouldn't be that much longer?

Out in the Egyptian desert, Jack burned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Monday strikes again! I imagine y'all will have a little fun with this one. Please, please let me know if you spot any errors or are confused. Or have thoughts. Or liked something. Really, I just love comments. ^^ You guys keep me going.

San Luca tapped his final key with a sigh and issued the print command. "That should do the job," he said, leaning back in his chair to look up at Yassen. "Maybe fifteen minutes to finish printing and you're set. My son sent me a new state of the art printer. It's made my life quite easy!"

Yassen nodded and straightened, popping his back slightly. Glanced at Alex absently, wondering if he was still cross about the birthdate on his passport, only to realize the boy was standing stock still, eyes riveted to the hallway they had entered from with arms wrapped around himself. Alex's skin was flushed and his entire body had coiled tight, as though preparing to strike.

Damn it. Now was certainly not the time for Alex to have an episode.

Yassen grabbed Alex's elbow gently, just enough to ensure his attention. "Are you feeling alright?"

Alex's eyes flicked briefly to Yassen's face before returning to the door. "I feel sick."

Good. Alex was keeping his responses vague. While Yassen trusted that San Luca understood the consequences of double crossing his clientele, he wasn't entirely certain the man didn't have some kind of recording for his own personal security. It was doubtful anyone interested in the potential footage would even know about San Luca. Even so, Alex's mental state would be very helpful for any number of interested parties in determining what Yassen's short-term travel considerations would be. He could hardly take the boy to an airport like this.

"It'll only be a few more minutes," Yassen told him. "I'll take you back to the hotel and you can rest."

Alex nodded, still unwilling to look away from the doorway. That was interesting. His body was coiled with flight or fight, which meant he was prepared to be pursued. But he wasn't eyeing the room for climbing surfaces, so it wasn't the crusher or the crocodiles. Yassen couldn't recall anything else he'd encountered at the prison that would chase Alex. Waterboarding was a passive hallucination, as was the burning aviator fuel, his housekeeper's death, the Grief child laughing, and most of his others.

Something new then.

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose. Naturally, nothing would go right the day he needed it to.

And now he had to go to Las Vegas. What another lovely surprise. If Ferri had fled Scorpia's shifting power dynamics, it was equally likely that many of the high-quality forgers and professionals associated with the organization had done the same. No one else was particularly close to their current location, meaning he'd have to waste another few days confirming his hypothesis. Even if he wanted to, he was sure he could afford to stay in such close proximity to MI6. Ferri was his only solid option, even if Yassen had to cross a few oceans to get to him.

That itself would be problematic. Alex could barely handle quietly standing around a print shop. Yassen couldn't imagine him doing much better on a trans-atlantic flight or on a bus or a train. All of those options were fast but heavily monitored. Alex would be exposed throughout the entire ordeal and would have to maintain total and complete control of himself for up to three days, depending on the safest routing.

He snorted. That was a cute idea.

No, what Yassen needed was something more private. Slow was fine, he decided. So long as they weren't discovered en route, it might even benefit them. Soon the authorities would move on to other priorities, especially if MI6 wasn't forthcoming with why it was so important to devote many resources to pursue them. In fact, it was likely that they were monitoring all major stations and international travel hubs via Interpol as a primary strategy. After all, the runaways' options were limited: Yassen couldn't drive them across the ocean. It would be risky in the first place to try and drag Alex through all of that surveillance, even if he were sound in mind and body.

San Luca waved him over to the largest, newest printer where he removed the dark blue booklet and began stapling the pages together along the spine. He handed the first passport to Yassen for inspection.

After a moment of careful examination, Yassen nodded and glanced back at Alex. The boy's lips were pressed tightly together, as though containing himself from shouting. He watched as Alex shifted on his feet, still tense and ready for a fight.

Yes, private and slow was definitely better.

Yassen paid San Luca swiftly and collected their documents in under ten minutes with a terse goodbye. Alex's eyes tightened as they approached the hallway they'd entered from, but as they emerged into the natural light of the main shop, his anxiety seemed to lessen. By the time they made it back to the new car, he seemed only tired as he flopped into his seat and shut his eyes.

"What was it this time?" Yassen asked, starting the car and heading back to the hotel.

Head propped up against the window, Alex cracked an eye open and shook his head. "Julius again. It was weird. Normally he just laughs and hides, but this time it was shouting. It took everything I had to not try and hunt him down."

Yassen paused. "A memory?"

"Yeah." Alex shut his eyes again. Yassen had almost believed he'd drifted of into sleep when he spoke again. "So, assuming we're not secretly dead-" his tone left no doubt as to his skepticism "-why am I having new hallucinations if I'm not getting more doses of the weird drug MI6 put me on?"

Yassen shrugged. "You had a dose a few days ago. Perhaps this is the consequences of that. Dr. Wood's note said it would take around ninety days for the hallucinations to end. Or at least, that's what I gathered from her terrible handwriting."

Alex snorted, smiling thinly. "Yeah, it was pretty awful. She didn't even use words half the time. I bet she's one of those people who texts only in emojis."

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Yassen glanced over at him and noted his improved color. "Feeling any better? I can keep guessing your sizes, but I imagine you'd rather pick your own clothes."

Alex shook his head and pressed his forehead against the window more firmly. It took Yassen a second to realize Alex's color had improved because the cool glass had offered some modicum of relief. "I feel awful. Worse than I ever did at prison, anyway."

"Explain."

"I've got a splitting headache. Really, really bad. Not even getting hit in the head with a gun hurts this much." Alex groaned. "Everything's gotten so… I don't know how to describe it. Like everything is rearranging itself around us and it's probably dangerous and I just don't know how until something bad happens. I can't relax. It reminds me of detox."

"I see." Yassen turned that thought over and shrugged. "Perhaps you are detoxing. You were on a dozen different medications at the prison. Even if you only took them for a month, it might be enough to create some sort of withdrawal."

Alex clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned again. "Great. Just what I need. I should have read Briar's note more carefully."

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "She didn't mention anything about your medications' withdrawal symptoms, just the injection's. Not that she was a wealth of information in the first place."

"I've read fortune cookies more helpful than that woman," Alex grumbled. He peeked out from behind his hand. "Yassen?"

"Hm?"

"What do you think her note meant about your blood? She didn't really write a whole lot about it, not that I remember much more than that." Alex hesitated. "You aren't sick, are you?"

Yassen snorted. "I'm in perfect health and you know it. Don't concern yourself with it. I already know what's so interesting about my blood. I assure you, the authorities will be less than delighted if they ever solve that little mystery."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Really? What is it?"

There wasn't really any harm in telling the boy why. Yassen really didn't want to get into the details, but he had little to lose on a surface level. "Anthrax antibodies, I imagine."

Alex's mouth dropped open. "You're joking."

"Not at all," Yassen told him, a little amused despite himself.

"Anthrax?" Alex repeated at him. He shook his head. "Don't you have normal problems?"

"I could ask you the same, little Alex."

The boy's lips pressed in a thin line as he half shrugged. "Fair enough. Isn't that deadly?"

"Unless you're vaccinated against it, yes." Yassen started the car, quickly checking behind him before he reversed out of their spot. "There are many vaccinations for anthrax already. Mine was for an experimental strain, so I doubt it's well documented enough for them to recognize it for what it is. I'm almost tempted to send MI6 a pint of my blood if only to enjoy their disappointment when they realize just how little value it actually has."

Alex chuckled, rubbing his fist against his forehead. "Shame there'd be no way to see their faces."

"Indeed."

After a few minutes of silence, Alex winced. "Yassen?"

"Hm?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where in Cordoba I could get better painkillers than aspirin?"

Yassen spared him a flat look, flicking on the indicator light with more force than necessary. "No."

Alex rubbed his face and returned his head to the cool glass. "Worth a shot," he mumbled, eyes shutting again.

Yassen drummed his fingers on the steering wheel before making up his mind.

A cruise ship would fit their needs perfectly. Sailing to America would take at least a few days and a decent cabin would offer Alex some privacy. Neither of them would stand out against the crowd given the number of families on board, provided Yassen picked the cruise line strategically.

Slow, private, and after a few days of detoxing, Alex would have plenty of options on board to entertain himself with, provided the hallucinations were quiet. Yassen hadn't been on a cruise ship in a couple of years and when he had it was for work, but he remembered an excess of arcades and other areas for children. The first few days would probably be a little uncomfortable, but Alex had a high threshold for pain. He'd bounce back in no time while Yassen could plan their next move.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Back again. ^^ This is a touch unusual, but FF.net is giving me some weird amounts of trouble so I'm posting here first. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts, especially if you really hated or loved something about the chapter. I'm never entirely certain how things are going to be received so the insight is incredibly valuable either way. 
> 
> Happy Mondays!

Alex squinted at the rays of late morning sun that managed to creep around the frame of the plain black sunglasses Yassen had bought him to complete his "fake tourist" look. Somewhere, currently being loaded onto the ship, were their suitcases loaded with all their worldly possessions. Yassen had picked up most of it for both of them while Alex had curled up in the hotel room, swallowed more aspirin, and tried very, very hard to pretend he wasn't real. The drive to Lagos had been miserable, as Alex seemed to have lost the ability to sleep in the car. Sleep deprivation had done little for his temperament.

Behind him in line, a four year old girl started whining about her blanket, tugging at her mother's arm, wails getting progressively louder as she failed to summon the woman's attention. He dragged a hand against his face, yawning and shifting miserably on his feet. The kid's shrieking sent bolts of pain lancing across his temples. Every blast of the ship's horn offered a new wave of agony. How much longer would he have to wait before he could lie down?

Yassen glanced at him from where he leaned against a concrete pillar within the fabric ropes marking the angles of the queue. "Once we pass through customs, it shouldn't be more than twenty minutes before we're on the ship," he said, seemingly reading Alex's mind.

Alex grimaced and wrapped his arms around himself. "But how long will customs take?"

He shrugged. "Depends."

Alex craned his head to try and see ahead of the crowded lines leading into the small, squat concrete building. The looming white and yellow cruise ship hung in the background like a garish, shining specter. Just beyond the tops of his fellow travellers' heads, he could spot a row of metal detectors and scanners.

At last, the line began to move.

A sharp flicker of aching pain lanced down his arms. Fists clenching involuntarily, Alex twisted around to look behind him. Sure enough, his eyes zeroed in on the dark flicker of armored scales, visible for just a flash before another loud ground of tourists pressed forward and obscured it from sight. His entire body tensed, flooding with adrenaline.

Not now, not now, not now…..

Yassen's hand came down on his shoulder, making him jump. "What is it this time?"

"Crocodiles," he ground out. The whispers of scales scraping against the ground seemed to come from somewhere behind him. He shut his eyes.

Don't look, don't look, don't look….

Yassen hissed through his teeth. "It won't be long now."

Alex heard the unspoken message: keep it together at all costs. This wasn't a safe place for Alex to have an episode. They needed to avoid detection, to avoid drawing any attention to them at all. Running from imaginary crocodiles was probably the best way to wind up an unwilling internet celebrity on Youtube shortly before being sent back to prison.

But what could Alex do? He couldn't just stand there and let the fucking things get him. He'd tried so many times to just ignore them- so, so many times. He knew they weren't real. He knew they were memories and that since he'd never actually been bitten, there was no memory of actual pain for his brain to draw on. Let them hiss and snarl, he'd tried to say. They can't bite me.

But he just couldn't ignore it, not forever, knowing they were getting closer and closer….

Yassen was as helpless as he was, he realized suddenly. Normally, the assassin could help him appease his need to act or sedate him. Neither was possible here. Actually, if Alex were to begin climbing the nearest luggage cart, Yassen's most practical course of action would be to abandon him at the port and blend into the crowd. No point in getting shipped back to prison because Alex couldn't keep himself together.

Alex stared hazily at the other man, feeling another tidal wave of pain bite at his skull. He wouldn't really leave him to deal with everything alone, would he? Not that Alex could blame him. Not really. He knew he'd been a huge pain in the ass to deal with even when Yassen had the prison's resources at his back. Then again, the assassin had dragged him this far without abandoning him, had negotiated with MI6, and double crossed Scorpia to keep them together. He wouldn't just leave Alex behind now over this, would he? Not over one of his regular hallucinations.

Then again, Yassen had less to lose in prison. People had done crazier things for their freedom before….

The queue surged forward as another metal detector opened up. The new customs agent coming on shift waved people forward towards his line with his scanner wand, setting a coffee cup on the table beside him with a snap.

Vicious jaws slammed shut beside him, concealed somewhere to his right behind a family of about six, chattering away in what sounded like Mandarin Chinese. A golden-green flash of scales danced in his peripheral for a split second before disappearing.

Alex sucked in a deep breath and took a few steps forward, Yassen's hand still clamped down on his shoulder as though he could actually stop Alex from taking flight. Perhaps he could. He'd been effective at restraining Alex at the prison, though he hadn't actually done so more than a handful of times. Annoyingly good at it, actually. He forgot sometimes how imbalanced the disparity between their skills were, that Yassen could make him do whatever he wanted, and that Alex's autonomy at the prison had largely relied on how patient Yassen was feeling that day.

Resentfully, he shook off Yassen's hand. He'd arrived at the front of the line for the scanner and stepped through before Yassen could so much as get a word out. The customs agent nodded politely to him as he stepped through. It hardly took two seconds: Alex had no cell phone or keys to worry about, so he had nothing to collect or put into one of the plastic bowls beside the scanner. Without a second glance, Alex was through and directed immediately into another queue.

Fear clenched in his stomach as he turned back to watch Yassen go through the detectors. He shouldn't have been rude, he realized. What if Yassen finally got sick of him and took off because Alex was being such an ungrateful brat? Surely Yassen would have a much easier time without Alex weighing him down. Even if he did have more power over him than Alex liked, the assassin was still bothering to take care of him. It wasn't like he owed him help, at least not as Alex understood it. Besides, Alex was certain that he didn't have the knowledge or resources to evade MI6 on his own.

Yassen nodded to agent and collected his things from the small bowl. Striding over to Alex, his eyes narrowed as the boy staggered back. Alex opened his mouth, but found that explaining that the two hulking, serpentlike bodies that had followed him through the detectors, heads low to the ground and hissing, was far more trouble than it was worth.

Alex shut his eyes and stood perfectly still as he felt the ghost of scales across his leg.

One, two, three, four….

Minutes later, he was at the front of the next line with Yassen, staring at the customs agent perched behind a raised counter desk. She was a younger woman with unnatural red hair braided off to the side of her head and a nametag that read 'Matilde!'. "Passports?" she demanded, eyes barely leaving her computer.

Alex stepped forward at Yassen's nudge, taking the slip of paper the man handed to him. He blinked. It was a small questionnaire about his travel plans, health status, and citizenship. With a jolt he realized everyone else in line had them. Yassen must have grabbed one and filled it out while Alex had been panicking and trying to ignore the crocodiles. They were still there of course, just snarling and hissing at him from where a large cardboard sign advertised brawny adventurous recruits of the local branch of the military. He handed over the slip along with his new passport, wishing he could just keel over dead right there. Anything was better than trying to deal with withdrawal and the fucking crocodiles at the same time.

She glanced at him and then at Yassen, checking their passports again. "Relation?"

Yassen handed over the notarized letter San Luca had provided, smiling absently and glancing around as though impatient. "I'm his step-father. Sorry, nearly forgot the note."

Alex had enough presence of mind to smother his snort. No, you didn't. You just wanted to see if San Luca had played you and it wasn't necessary in the first place.

The woman studied the paper, shrugged, and ran it through her scanner. After another few seconds of typing, she handed their documents back and waved a hand at the next queue. "Obrigado. Have a nice trip. Next!"

Alex grimaced, filing into the next queue. The crocodiles surged after him, almost making his heart stop as they swarmed around him.

He clenched his fists inside the pockets of his jeans, fighting the impulse to run with every fibre of his being. Unable to stop the small tremors working their way through his limbs as he stamped down on the adrenaline urging him to take flight. Yassen's hand clamping down on his shoulder for the second time only called attention to the fact that he was beginning to shake noticeably.

A passing blue uniformed agent stopped in his tracks, spotting Alex. After a quick, considering glance he approached them speaking in heavily accented English. "Are you doing alright, menino?"

Yassen smiled politely. "He has occasional panic attacks. He'll be fine."

The man studied Yassen's grip on Alex's shoulder and stepped forward, reaching for Alex's arm. "He doesn't look fine. Why don't you come with me for a minute, menino?"

Fuck.

The agent wanted to separate them. A lance of terror spiked through him. Had he recognized them from some sort of wanted persons notification? They'd only left the prison maybe two days ago so he'd assumed there hadn't been much time to get the word out. Had MI6 been monitoring the cameras mounted in the top corners of the room? Interpol? Was someone currently watching them and preparing-?

It made sense all of a sudden.

Alex was a child having a terror response. Yassen was an adult man who looked nothing like him, seemingly physically preventing him from getting out of line. They thought Alex had been kidnapped.

He almost laughed with relief.

Drawing on every reserve he had, Alex gave the agent a shaky smile and tried to will away his trembling. One of the crocodiles nearly brushed against his leg and he swallowed a yelp. "No, thank you, that's okay. I shouldn't have left my medication in my luggage, but I didn't think I'd be in line so long. It should pass in a couple of minutes. My doctor says it's not too serious to miss a dose once in awhile."

The man studied him for a long second before relaxing. "Well, we have a medical facility at the port if you change your mind. Keep ahold of your medications next time."

"I will. Thank you."

Yassen nodded to the man as he began walking down the line, calling out instructions to the groups of people clustering near the entrance. Leaning close to Alex's ear, he murmured, "Bad?"

"Very bad," Alex told him, wrapping his arms around himself. How was it so damn cold? He was freezing, despite the thick orange sweater he had dug out of his bag of new clothes this morning. "Crocodiles."

"You're sweating," Yassen told him, studying him. His eyes flicked up and away suddenly.

Alex followed his gaze, stiffening with dread as he saw the customs agent return with an older, more official-looking coworker in tow.

"Not feeling well, cabrito?" the customs agent asked Alex.

Alex nodded, trying to force himself to relax. If they got pulled out of line and officially questioned, there was no way they could avoid getting flagged in some kind of international system once the agents' reports went through. It was too late to make a run for it- they were packed in on all sides by thick lines of people and the exits were few and guarded by more customs agents. Yassen's tightening grip on Alex suggested his thoughts had followed the same lines. Fuck. "That's right. Just a little panic attack. I'm sure it'll be over soon. It always passes."

The agent's coworker nodded to Alex, sympathy lining the corner of his lips as he gave a quick smile. "Sorry you have to go through that, but it happens when you don't keep ahold of your pills. Why don't you two come with us? We'll sneak you into our medical exemption line and get you onboard faster so you can rest. Your luggage shouldn't be long now."

"That's very kind of you," Yassen said, grip easing slightly. "I'm sure he'll feel much better once he can lie down. Isn't that right, David?"

Alex let out a soft exhale.

Right. He'd forgotten what his false identity was- he'd been feeling too awful to take more than a cursory glance at his passport the night before. He couldn't remember what Yassen's name was supposed to be either. Good thing he hadn't been pulled aside and questioned. "Sounds great. Thank you."

Twenty minutes later, after another quick glance at their documentation and the awarding of a ship's card, Alex and Yassen were led aboard with a smaller set of passengers. The majority of the people waiting in the comfortable, chair lined, and much more liberally air conditioned room were either in wheelchairs, crutches, or carried some kind of obvious medical equipment with them. Customs and ship crew seemed to mingle here, running paperwork back and forth and calling out in Portuguese. None seemed terribly interested in the group patiently waiting to board.

Yassen relaxed as soon as they came in view of the gangplank. It took Alex a split second to realized that he'd been on high-alert, prepared to…

Well, Alex didn't want to think too much on what Yassen was prepared to do.

Ignoring the greetings of the crew members waiting at the entrance. Alex took only a handful of glances at the lavish interior of the stupid fucking ship- the garish, blown glass ornamentation lining the walls in the shape of waves and starfish, at the exotic paint jobs spiralling across hallway walls, the shining gold surfaces of anything metallic, the needlessly trendy seating smattered around here and there. Every inch of the place was a luxury cruise liner, but all Alex found himself caring about was the caribbean blue carpet, which he stared fuzzily at as Yassen led him forward towards the elevators.

Thinking was getting harder and harder. All he could focus on was moving forward and ignoring the rising nausea.

Yassen did a far better job of seeming relaxed and on holiday than Alex as he barreled his way through the cabin hallways. Eventually, Yassen brought him up short with a hand on his elbow and nodded to a door. "This is us. The crocodiles still following you?"

Alex shook his head, running a hand across his sweat slicked bangs. They just flopped back into his face, bringing stinging salt directly into his eyes. He shoved them away again, fighting the urge to drop to the floor and curl up on the carpet. "They gave up in the medical express line. Still feel like I'm dying though."

Yassen swiped the card through the reader and shoved open the door, letting Alex stumble through first. "I imagine our luggage isn't that far behind us if you-"

Alex barely heard him, already shoving open the narrow, lightweight door to the loo. He had a split second to appreciate that it was a touch larger than he'd expected- a nice long vanity style counter with a line of bright round bulbs, a small, but modern looking shower with a rainwater head- before throwing himself at the toilet. He made it just in time to vomit up the modest amount of fruit and oats Yassen had coerced him into eating this morning.

Yassen watched him from the doorway. When Alex slumped and pressed his head up against the room temperature plastic, he came closer. Pulling Alex away from the toilet by the shoulder, he brushed his fingers across Alex's forehead and frowned. "You're burning up."

"I feel cold," Alex told him. He swallowed. "And my head is killing me. Are you sure you can't get me anything stronger than aspirin?"

Yassen hesitated. "The pain is only temporary."

Alex scowled and batted the hand away where it had come to rest against his forehead. Slumping to the floor, he curled on his side and shut his eyes. "You're not the one who's had this headache since yesterday."

"That's true," Yassen agreed. Alex felt the older man shake his shoulder, but it was a distant sensation, as though he were feeling it through a tunnel. "Get up. You'll be warmer in your bed."

Alex hummed. Bed did sound nice, but he wasn't entirely sure he could keep his eyes open now. Especially not long enough to walk. "Bring me a blanket?"

"Get up and get one yourself," Yassen said. He didn't sound angry, just… worried. At least to Alex's ears. Maybe he was imagining it.

Alex shook his head, unsure if he actually felt the cool laminate tile of the floor below him or if it was just his imagination. "Can't. Cold."

A minute later, a thin woven blanket settled over him. He tugged it closer, shivering. Everything felt distant and fuzzy. His head throbbed and he was dying for sleep, he hadn't been able to get more than a few hours last night. Just as he had then, he couldn't drift off no matter how exhausted he was. He just wanted oblivion, to not feel something for a little bit, but save for sleep or oxycontin, he was stuck awake with the pain.

It's only temporary, he reminded himself firmly. It'll pass.

Eventually.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry this is almost late! Lots of super-fun character torture this chapter. ^^ As always, thanks again everyone who commented. Life has been pretty rough lately, but every time I see a notification in my inbox, it makes my day infinitely better. You guys rock.

Two days later, Yassen found himself staring dully at the cabin wall and calling himself every type of idiot imaginable.

Alex will be fine, he mocked. Some deep part of him cringed to hear his original thoughts repeated back to himself. He'll be a little uncomfortable while he detoxes and then have the run of the ship. Like a little holiday.

Twice in the last month, Yassen had proven himself naive. Again.

Alex himself flipped over on the other bed, moaning. Twisting around in his sheets for the two millionth time in the last hour. Hair dark and drenched with sweat and eyes ringed with purple-blue exhaustion, he shoved his face into his pillow as though he could suffocate himself. Unable to find sleep, he let out a despairing whine before rolling over again and again and again….

Yassen buried his face in his hands.

Five days. Five days since leaving prison. Five days since Yassen had last slept.

Alex could not sleep, thus Yassen could not sleep. The small box of over-the-counter sleep aids he'd bought at the small convenience store aboard the ship had done nothing for the boy, as had the aspirin, ibuprofen, and tylenol he'd followed it with. Alex's misery couldn't be medicated with anything Yassen had available, thus the boy was forced to deal with the fever, muscle pains, insomnia, and nausea on his own.

Apart from the constant stream of noises the unhappy child made, Yassen found himself afraid the worst of the hallucinations would return. So far, Alex had re-lived his waterboarding but none of his other regularly occurring flashbacks. Yassen couldn't shake the irrational fear that the instant he nodded off, Alex would feel aviator fuel rain down his back or the whirring grindstones of the crusher closing in on his feet. If Alex was going to injure himself, historically it was during those two particular fits. Thus, even when Alex managed to involuntarily pass out for an hour or so, Yassen found himself unable to do much more than close his own eyes.

So far as a cell went, their cabin made for a nice one. Yassen had been forced to pay premium prices to book it at the last second. It was more spacious than most, with a large entrance lined by a built-in cabinet wardrobe that led into the main cabin area. Two queen sized beds occupied the bulk of the room, their forest green and oatmeal colored blankets contrasting a little oddly with the orange and gray swirl carpeting. Beyond that was a small sitting area with two economically stuffed chairs angled neatly around a squat glass coffee table so that the occupants could stare out the balcony at the sparkling sea views below.

Not that he'd had much time to admire it. Yassen kept the drapes firmly closed: Alex's light sensitivity had only gotten worse the crankier and sleep deprived he became. As it turned out, an unmedicated Alex was a loud Alex. Their cabin was hardly sound proof, meaning Yassen had his hands full every time Alex got riled up enough to shout.

That had been fun the first dozen times.

Yassen groaned softly into his hands before forcing himself to release his face. Glancing over at the bed beside his, he blearily noticed Alex watching him with half-lidded, weary eyes.

"Still can't sleep?" Yassen asked him, mostly for something to say.

Alex shook his head, face and neck flushed red with fever. He shivered, yanking the blankets tighter around himself. "I'm trying so hard, but I can't. This is hell, Yassen. We're in hell."

"I know, Alex." Yassen pushed himself off the bed, snatching the small, folded white towel from where it had fallen onto Alex's pillow. It was bone dry.

"Why'd you break us out?" Alex moaned as Yassen strode into the small bathroom. "This is a worse hell than the prison hell. We failed the test and we've gone to a worse hell, Yassen."

Yassen sighed and scrubbed his face, watching the towel soak through beneath the cool stream from the faucet. Lack of sleep burned his eyes, filling the corners with sand. Exhaustion sent aches through his entire body. He wrung out the little towel, leaning his forehead against the cold glass of the mirror, unwilling to study his own reflection. It would only be demoralizing. "We're not dead," he called. "No test. You're going through withdrawal."

He didn't even know why he bothered at this point. Alex was disoriented and didn't seem to be able to form memories reliably. They'd had this conversation at least three times today.

God, please let this be temporary.

"Yes, we are!" Alex howled. The bed creaked as he sat up. "We're dead and we're being punished for not accepting it! This is your fault, your fault, your fault….!" He trailed off as Yassen returned and replaced the cold fabric against his forehead. With a sigh, the boy laid back against his pillow and shut his eyes. "What was I saying?" he mumbled.

Yassen shuffled over to the bedside table and gathered up the cherry Pop-tart wrappers and medicine packaging littering it, sweeping them into the bin between the beds. Since Alex was nowhere near well enough to go to the canteen and inviting the attention of room service would be a disaster, Yassen had been forced to make do with whatever he could grab from the stupid convenience store in the promenade. Nutrition was a concern of the past, given their meager selection. Not that Alex was willing to even consider having more than two bites of something that didn't taste like dessert with his nausea.

Alex gasped.

Yassen jerked and opened his eyes. Had he actually fallen asleep standing up? He shook himself out of it, or at least tried to, and cleared his throat. "What is it?"

The boy twisted, getting his feet under him and scooting back against the headboard. "Julius!"

"Is he laughing again?" Yassen murmured, feeling his eyes slide shut for the second time. He sat down on the edge of his own bed.

"No, I can see him!" There was a loud thud as Alex fell onto the floor and pressed himself against the wall that divided the cabin from the bathroom. "No! Shut up! You're wrong!"

"Alex, be quiet," Yassen snapped, standing. Dear god. Seeing the Grief child was certainly new. He'd plagued Alex with his laughter for months, of course, but it seemed his sudden penchant for shouting had escalated significantly. That alone concerned him, but more importantly, Alex's volume had tripled in under three words.

What time was it? He spotted the small digital clock. Two in the afternoon. Hopefully the occupants of their neighboring cabins were out enjoying the sun and grabbing a bite to eat, not listening to a child shrieking in terror or calling the crew's emergency line.

Hopefully.

The small teen ignored him and darted away from the wall, backing towards the cabin door. "I didn't! I fucking swear I never-!"

Yassen's dulled reflexes sprang to life in an instant. There was no way he could allow Alex to leave the cabin in the state he was in. They were already rolling the dice by hoping the ship's crew never realized that no one had seen the child since he'd boarded. He threw himself forward. "Alex."

Alex shook his head frantically, eyes glued on something past Yassen's shoulder. "Julius, you can't-!"

Yassen grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him back towards the beds. "Alex, don't go-"

"He'll shoot me," Alex moaned, trying to rip free of Yassen's grip. His struggles were as ineffectual as Yassen's grasp felt. Both of them were exhausted. It was a miracle either of them could stand. Alex settled for twisting wildly in his hold. "Please, Yassen, don't! He's right there, he's right there-"

"He's not real," Yassen snapped, knowing it was hopeless. Alex was too delirious to accept the hallucinations for what they were, much less willfully ignore them. That was hard enough to do when he was well, or at least, more well than he was now. He shoved the boy down onto his bed, forcing him to sit even as he tried to kick Yassen. "Stop that! You need to be quiet."

Alex's voice dropped to a ragged whisper, eyes locking on Yassen properly for the first time. "He's right there, Yassen. Don't let him get me. Please, please don't let him shoot me…."

Yassen nodded wearily. "It's fine. He can't get you, Alex."

Alex hesitated for a split second, studying Yassen's face with a terrible and desperate sort of intensity. "I'm sorry I yelled before. Please kill him for me? Please?"

Yassen sighed, feeling the motion rattle him to his very bones and steal the majority of his strength. His shoulders dropped, but he didn't dare release the boy. "Oh, little Alex…."

"Please," Alex begged, wide brandy-brown eyes filling with tears. His fingers wrapped loosely around Yassen's wrists. "He killed Jack and he's going to kill me. Please kill him for me? He won't go away and he won't stop laughing and shouting and I'm so tired and everything hurts and it's cold. I don't think I can kill him again. I can't. Please do it for me?"

"I would if I could," Yassen told him. "But he's not real. You know he's not real."

"He's right there! Please, Yassen, please….!" Tears actually began sliding down his face. Yassen flinched, but he couldn't' back away, not without Alex making a desperate lunge for the door to escape into the hallway. "Just shoot him!"

"I had to toss the gun before boarding, Alex."

Alex's lip trembled. "Then snap his neck. Like the soldier in the van."

"I would if I could," Yassen repeated, shutting his eyes. "But he's not real."

Alex's glanced past Yassen's shoulder, face drawn tight in terror and renewed his flailing. Julius must be advancing. "Please don't let him get me…."

He couldn't deal with this anymore.

Yassen tugged Alex towards him. Startled, Alex pitched forward, unprepared when Yassen twisted his grip, clamping his arm across Alex's torso and pinning his arms. With his free hand, he sharply tapped the pressure point behind the boy's jaw and ear.

Alex's knees buckled and he broke off mid-plea, staggering forward onto the bed.

A choke hold would have knocked the boy out completely, but was just as likely to give him brain damage and Yassen was not prepared to take that risk. Stooping swiftly, he grabbed one of Alex's trainers from the floor and ripped free the shoelaces from their eyelets. Alex was too groggy and off balance to stop Yassen from tying him to the headboard, but as soon as he blinked his vision clear, he shot the older man a furious glare.

"He's going to-" he began to shout, before Yassen shoved the wet rag in his mouth with a sigh. Alex let out a muffled grunt.

"He's not real," Yassen tried again. Covering his eyes, Yassen grimaced and dropped onto the bed, pinning Alex's legs before he could be kicked in the stomach. He couldn't do this. "I promise I'd kill him for you if he was real, Alex, but he's not. It's just a hallucination. It'll pass."

Alex snarled something muffled in response, still twisting and trying to get a kick in.

"Just go to sleep," Yassen begged. "Just for an hour. Please just fucking sleep."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday everyone! ^^ This chapter is just sort of a reaction one, so I might add a second later today just so you guys get a little more action for your patience.

Yassen stared at his two latest purchases, tucked into the paper bag alongside his now typical staples of pop-tarts and candy bars. The pack of cigarettes and small bottle of vodka stared back at him, promising him something that reeked of both relief and defeat.

He started. When had he left the room? Was Alex still tied up?

Fuzzy memories limped sluggishly to attention, of Alex finally settling down into a fitful doze while Yassen shut his eyes and failed to sleep. He couldn't quite remember the decision to come down to the shop, but perhaps he'd just been desperate to escape the frustrated, wet eyes glaring at him as the boy tried to get comfortable. That was a losing battle- Yassen's restraints had been designed to be thorough, not gentle.

How long could Alex's withdrawal last?

Yassen stared down at his bag. He couldn't do this. Could barely persuade himself to go back up to the room now, much less deal with this indefinitely. Why had he thought he could handle this? What had possessed him to confidently assume he could look after Alex with his many, many problems? It was painfully ironic how much less free he felt outside of prison.

The cashier handed him his change, jarring him. She nodded to the cigarettes and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Family drama?" she asked, a faint trace of Colombian accent tugging at her vowels.

"You could say that," Yassen murmured, turning to leave. What mad impulse had driven him to buy the damn things? He hadn't smoked since he was fourteen and living on the streets of Moscow. Cardio was un-shockingly important for an assassin and he'd gone out of his way to ensure his lungs would never fail him. He'd even refused celebratory cigars from clients, much to their ire. Maybe it was some random connection in his brain, some memory that compared his memories of misery trying to survive on the streets with Dima with the hell on earth his life was now.

Bozhe, he just needed to sleep. Even for an hour.

"Don't worry," she said, waving a hand at the promenade. "It's a big ship. Lots of places to hide and keep busy. Most people never use the gym, though our internet cafe and library is another quiet place-"

Yassen blinked and turned back to her. "Where is the internet cafe?"

Ten minutes later, Yassen found himself opening every link the search engine spat out. Nurse Scalia's insistence that he be so involved in Alex's care meant that Yassen recalled the names of his medications and a rough estimation of his dosages.

What he found was a bizarre combination of terrifying and reassuring. Alex was definitely withdrawing from all the sedatives and anti-psychotics. Aside from his hallucinations, his symptoms weren't even unusual, if somewhat severe, but even that seemed relatively common for the chemicals Alex had been prescribed. In an ideal world, a doctor would have been able to taper the boy's enormous dosages, but Alex had been forced to stop cold turkey. According to a handful of sites, many people voluntarily checked into rehab clinics for the duration of their detoxes. Apart from being a notoriously painful experience, suicides were apparently common due to the severity of the disorientation and the relative misery of the side effects.

It would pass in about two weeks, the bloggers and doctors and clinicians assured their readers. With small flare ups for the next few months. The most important thing was to keep the patient calm and comfortable while they adjusted to their doctor's new regimen of pills.

Yassen scrubbed his eyes with his hands, probing at the stubble that had erupted on his face over the last two days which he'd been too apathetic to shave. His fingers already twitched in anticipation of a small, white cylinder of nicotine.

Make him comfortable, keep him calm.

Proklyat'ye. Of only two things he could reasonably be expected to do, he was failing at even those.

There was nothing he could do about it! If he took Alex to the ship's doctor, it would take all of five minutes before they determined he needed an actual hospital or the boy hallucinated something concerning enough to earn Yassen a separate locked room while the authorities could be summoned. San Luca's passports wouldn't stand up to close, prolonged scrutiny. Returning to prison, a worse prison than the Gibraltar compound, was almost a guarantee. Trapped on the cruise ship, Yassen couldn't even find some sort of doctor or clinic he could carefully select and bribe to take Alex off his hands for the next few weeks.

Alex could die detoxing. It wasn't necessarily likely, but it was certainly possible. Somehow, incredibly, Yassen had become responsible for Alex's life. Indefinitely.

His stomach squirmed. How the hell had that happened? Yassen was perfectly comfortable dispensing death- had gotten exceptionally good at it- but being completely responsible for another, far more helpless life than his own? With no team? To be the one person expected to ensure the brat's daily survival?

It was terrifying. All parents on the planet were either idiots or lunatics.

What had he done to deserve this? He'd intervened in Alex's care because it was easy, because it served the both of their interests, and because he still felt like he owed Hunter for everything he had done to help Yassen when no one in the world owed him anything or cared about the lonely Russian teen with nowhere else to go. When had babysitting morphed into this shitshow? When had he lost the ability to walk away when the task demanded too much of him?

Probably around the same he'd decided to betray Scorpia to keep them from being separated. Yassen ran his hands through his hair before roughly forcing himself to stop. He knew something in him had changed, had consciously accepted whatever it was as a tolerable weakness, but he hadn't thought it was this bad.

What a nightmare.

As mired in something shockingly close to self-pity as he was, Yassen decided he'd just have to do what he always did when things got difficult: push forward until someone died. Maybe it would even be himself this time. Or both of them, in this case. Yassen already felt like he'd lost his mind, so he wasn't entirely willing to dismiss the idea of a soothing murder-suicide to round out the afternoon.

Resigned, he stood and grabbed his bag from where he'd set it next to the bank of desktop computers. Maybe it would be kinder if he threw them both off the balcony and into the ocean. Solve all their collective problems in one move. Snorting, he thought he was beginning to understand why Alex had such a fondness for the idea of being dead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yeah, okay, I decided to post. Mostly because the last chapter was more of an insight chapter rather than a "fun things happen" chapter. Plus, I really think you guys will get a kick out of this one.
> 
> As always, comments make my life. Seriously. As soon as I get a notification that someone commented, I stop everything I'm doing to read it.

Alex was wide awake when Yassen reentered the cabin. The dark circles under his eyes were practically black and his fever had clearly made a comeback. His wrists had chafed red where he'd yanked against the woven cotton laces, but they hadn't broken or bled. Small mercies. He didn't try to speak, but then again, he barely seemed to have the energy to hold his head up.

Yassen set the bag down on the bedside table and sat down next to Alex, studying him. "Is Julius gone?" At Alex's nod, he pulled out the rag from his mouth and swiftly untied him. "Good."

Alex's head lolled as he slumped more comfortably on his bed. He didn't try to reposition himself though. "Why are you doing this?"

"You were making too much noise," Yassen told him, digging around in the bag. "And you can't be seen hallucinating by anyone else on the ship. I brought more cherry pop-tarts."

"But why are you doing all this?"

Yassen paused. "What do you mean?"

Alex rolled over to look at him. "Taking care of me. Putting up with all this. Why?"

"Eat your pop-tart, Alex," Yassen sighed and threw the small package at him. "There's Milky Ways and a few Twixs too."

"Don't dodge the question," Alex snapped. "I need to know. Why are you doing this?"

"Don't worry about it." Yassen stood and stared fuzzily at his own bed. When was the last time he had slept again? He didn't want to know. It sounded like a fantastic idea, but one glance at Alex told him that it was a lost cause. It'd probably be hours before the miserable child settled down. As sensitive to sound and paranoid as Yassen was, shouldn't there still be a theoretical point at which he fell involuntarily unconscious even for a little bit?

He wished he were so lucky.

"But why?"

"Why does it matter?" he snapped, kicking the bed hard enough that it rocked on its hinges. It was like sprinkling gasoline over a frie: his temper only continued to flare. It was bad enough that Alex actively prevented him from sleeping, had been doing so for days, but to demand answers about something he really, really didn't want to think about was too much. "I just am! Now shut up and either eat or go to sleep."

Alex tensed and pushed himself onto his knees, shoulders hunched. "I need to know," he insisted, voice rising. "It matters. Why-?"

"Why?" Yassen folded his arms, patience snapping. "Why can't you be quiet? Why can't you sleep for more than a fucking hour at a time? You make so much noise all-" Clenching his fists, he forced himself to shut his mouth before he could say anything else.

The boy's eyes blazed. "So answer the fucking question and I'll shut up! Why are you taking care of me?"

"I don't know why! I don't know!" Yassen ripped the cigarettes out of the bag and grabbed the bottle of vodka. He yanked open the balcony door, slamming it shut before Alex could respond.

O

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? There had to be a fucking reason Yassen was bothering to stick around. Alex felt like he was at death's door, but that didn't mean he was blind to the fact that Yassen was essentially having a nervous breakdown just being near him. Something powerful must motivate him. His "I don't know" had sounded honest, but Yassen had tried to dodge the question at first so Alex wasn't entirely sure how much to trust his eventual answer.

And since when did Yassen smoke?

Alex glared at the shut door before collapsing back on the bed. Thinking was too hard. He was so, so tired. His entire body ached and burned and he couldn't fucking fall asleep. Turning the pop-tart over in his hands, he let it fall from his fingers as his stomach threatened to rebel at the mere thought of eating. Everything was awful.

He wished, not for the first time, that he was dead. Like, actually dead.

Slumping on his side, he shut his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. It refused to come; instead, he found himself even more hyper-aware of how much his muscles hurt, how grainy his eyes felt, the uncomfortable roll of his stomach, the burning and smarting of the skin of his wrists. He groaned, unable to muster the energy to punch his pillow.

Distantly, he knew this had to be about as bad for Yassen, but he couldn't quite connect to that thought. He just wanted to sleep, knew that Yassen wanted him to sleep, but he couldn't. He tried so hard, but he just couldn't drift off no matter what he tried: counting sheep, meditating, fucking sleeping pills. Next on the list was slamming his head against the wall to see if he could knock himself unconscious, but he supposed Yassen might take issue with that method. If he lay still and quiet for long enough, Alex could pass out, sort of, but only for a few hours at a time and not nearly deep enough to dream.

Laying on his back, he shut his eyes.

Come on, sleep, sleep, sleep…. Just lie still, don't move, don't' think, don't…..

Had he fallen asleep? How long had he been out? Alex's brows furrowed, a distant sensation prodding at his shoulder and stealing his strength.

Oh, that's right. He'd been shot.

Laying on the pavement seemed nice, even as it rushed up to meet him. Did he really see the pavement move or did he dream it, since his eyes were already closed? And he was on a bed. Or was it a memory of lying in a bed? Of being shot? The lady would scream next if it was.

It was hard to tell. He wasn't sure he cared.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, craning his neck to peer at his shoulder. Bright red blood seeped through the white t-shirt he'd been wearing for the last two days, spreading like wine through the fibers of a carpet. Should he try to rinse the stain out of the cotton? He didn't want to look dirty, though perhaps that was a lost cause. Had he even showered this morning? It wasn't important. Nothing was important anymore, not even the growing pool of liquid life spilling out of him. A wry chuckle tore itself from his throat.

Distantly, he heard a sliding door push itself open, but he didn't look over. The distant sound of waves crashing, half muted. "Alex?"

He was dying. For some reason he thought it would hurt less. His whole body ached, as though the bullet had hurled him down a flight of stairs before burying itself in his chest. Wasn't shock supposed to cushion him, help him drift off into the great unknown? He hoped it would kick in soon.

They were going to help him, he realized with a sudden surge of anticipation. They'd come for him that time, or was that this time? Time was strange and difficult to tell apart. Surely he'd done this whole getting shot thing before. It felt so familiar. He couldn't really remember- maybe he'd only been shot once and it only felt like eternity had collapsed it into a second time. Either way, they'd be there for him, sitting with him on the pavement in front of the Royal and General Bank while nature ran its course.

She would be, anyway. He knew she'd come for him.

Glancing up excitedly, he saw the flash of fair hair and reached out, offering his hand. His vision had doubled or tripled or gotten fuzzy somehow. Had he even really opened his eyes at all? Soon it wouldn't matter. "Mum!"

Words, distant words, spoken by a familiar voice but he could barely hear them. "What? Alex-"

He reached out harder, straining his arm. He'd wanted to take her hand then (now?) but hadn't had the strength, but now his good, uninjured shoulder was working fine (had it always?) and so he reached, fingers desperately seeking the warmth of hers. If she took his hand, everything would be okay. He was certain. She would help him make it okay, she'd help take him to the place where he could sleep and where everything stopped hurting. "Mum!"

"Chert poberi- I'm not your mum, Alex," the voice sighed.

Alex couldn't bother to concern himself with anyone else, no matter how familiar that voice was. And nearby. If he'd had the energy to care, he'd have told that other voice to shut up while he talked to his mum. Why did she smell like cigarettes and cheap liquor?

Nevermind. That didn't matter right now.

She loved him, she came for him, and she'd make things better somehow. He knew she would. "Mum," he insisted, refusing to stop reaching.

"Alex-"

The bullet wound still didn't quite hurt, not the way he expected it to, but when he tried to lift his shoulders from the bed he failed. He tried again. Failed. He pressed his reaching hand against it briefly to staunch the flow, but it didn't seem to do anything to help. Whatever. If she hadn't taken his hand already, that meant he needed to meet her halfway. He'd just have to try harder.

He reached again, gasping with the effort, still unable to lift himself up off his bed. Dejected, he threw his head back in frustration. Helplessness tasted both bitter and familiar. Alex growled before trying to grab her hand again.

A soft groan and something that might have been a muttered curse. Some kind of metal lid unscrewed and after a quick swallowing sound, his bed dipped. More cheap liquor smell. "Five minutes," said the exhausted, naggingly familiar voice. "I'll be your mum for five minutes."

Alex would have paid more attention to the words if it wasn't for the warm hand that finally took his. Relief coursed through him. Smiling up at her, he shut his eyes and slept.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Extra long chapter today! Sorry it's so late. Life has been a bit hectic today and I really did mean to post this sometime around noon. Ah, well. Technically, it's still Monday where I am. ^^

Yassen jerked awake, inhaling sharply as he sat up. Squinted. Late evening light streamed in through the sliding glass door that led onto the balcony. Pushed away the dull throbbing behind his temples, which had actually faded to their lowest levels in days. He must have forgotten to shut the drapes. He should go do that, since soon enough Alex would complain that the light was giving him a headache and was keeping him from falling asleep.

His stomach and chest were still warm. What?

It took a minute for his brain to catch up with what had happened. Holding Alex's hand, he must have fallen asleep half on top of the boy some time ago. Then again, Yassen had woken and moved so suddenly….

Eyes flicking down to the bed, Yassen held his breath.

Head twisted away from the light, the little spy's chest continued to rise and fall in steady, slow beats.

Thank god.

Torn, he struggled for a long minute against the warring, competing emotions welling up. Relief at having finally slept, at Alex having finally slept, after days of mutual insomnia. Frustration paired with equal spades of bafflement, as he realized that he'd been more than a little drunk to entertain the idea of pretending to be the kid's dead mother, which, despite all logic seemed to have succeeded at lulling them both to sleep-

With a start, he realized his hand still loosely gripped Alex's. He dropped it like a hot coal.

Alex inhaled and shifted.

Yassen winced. Considered picking up his hand again if that's what it took to keep Hunter's stupid orphan unconscious.

After a minute, Alex gripped the comforter and settled back down.

He let out a soft exhale, feeling better than he had in days. Hungover, which was annoying. While he'd never been much of a drinker, somehow he hadn't expected to actually feel the effects of the alcohol- and of vodka, of all things. Exhaustion had faded into general tiredness, but that would probably take a day or two of good sleep to get rid of entirely.

The lingering stress was still there, though. Alex's life depended on his.

This stupid family.

Sighing, he staggered to the bathroom to get on with his evening. He rubbed his hand across his stubble before digging his razor out of his bag. A small thing, but it was appealing to feel in control of something in his life, even if it was just his facial hair. He worked quickly, razor trailing along the last patch of skin and hair beneath his chin in one clean movement. Rinsing it off, he glanced back up at the mirror, consciously taking in his features for the first time in a few days. A little worse for wear with those dark circles under his eyes, but he still looked very much like himself. Same face, same eyes. It was reassuring, given how out of sorts he felt under the constant onslaught of stress. At least his pale hair hadn't turned gray in the night, not that he'd have been terribly surprised. After all, his mother already had a full head of white hair by his age and-

Yassen paused. He hadn't thought of his mother in years. Why now?

He needed another smoke. Grabbed his pack from where he'd left it on the coffee table and stepped quietly out onto the balcony, careful to keep his movements light. The crisp ocean breeze rolled over him as he shut the door behind him, tugging at his shirt, heavy with salt and the scent of the sea. Lighting up and taking a drag helped soothe his nerves, so he nursed his cigarette and leaned forward to brace against the rail.

He couldn't afford to be so emotional, so stuck in his head while he took a trip down memory lane. Getting out of your own way was one of the most critical facets of being an assassin.

But was he still an assassin? The thought made his stomach clench with something like existential dread. He certainly didn't work for Scorpia anymore. He didn't work for anyone. What did that make him now? An ex-assassin? A freelance one?

He'd assumed that when he retired, he'd work occasionally for the sake of avoiding boredom and keeping his skills sharp. Someone willing to track him down for revenge was always a possibility. Maintaining his connections to the underworld and doing the occasional killing as a favor would do as much to keep him alive as anything else. Arguably, he was technically officially retired but definitely not bored. He couldn't even entertain the idea of taking on a job anytime soon, not with Alex in this state for likely the next ninety days. He didn't particularly miss terrorism and murder. Maybe he'd never go back to work.

So what did that make him now?

Reaching for another cigarette, Yassen realized abruptly that he'd just smoked his last one. He stared disbelievingly at the empty pack for a full three seconds. It had contained at least twenty when he'd bought it, not that he'd made much of a point of counting. Had he really sat outside on the balcony and finished three-quarters of a bottle of vodka and smoked nineteen cigarettes in the mere two hours he'd left Alex alone earlier this morning?

He double checked the pack. Nineteen. He was astounded that he hadn't vomited.

Yassen turned the pack over in his hand before chucking it out to sea. It impacted the dark blue ocean like a stone, bobbing back to the surface and cheerfully riding the nearest wave trailing the ship until it had faded into an indistinguishable speck.

Obviously, he'd need more.

O

The same cashier was on shift when Yassen returned to the convenience store. She finished helping a loud American family with three toddlers attempting to grab everything off the shelves before turning to him. She raised her eyebrows when he requested another three packs from the wall behind her and set his two bottles of vodka on the counter. "Rough day?"

"It's getting better," Yassen said, absently reaching for the shelves below the checkout and tossing another couple of candy bars on the pile. Alex preferred candy with caramel centers, but it wouldn't hurt to grab a few other options. Surely the peanut butter flavored ones had to have some kind of protein to offset the sugar. As long as Alex consumed calories by whatever means necessary, Yassen wouldn't complain about high-fructose corn syrup. Much.

Taking his bag from her, Yassen took his time strolling down the promenade instead of angling immediately for the elevators as he normally did. In no particular hurry to go back to the room, he played the part of a vaguely disinterested tourist and glanced in the windows of all the little shops, pretending to consider their offerings of ice-cream, souvenirs, and duty-free liquors.

It was probably the break from his little routine that did the trick. Yassen paused in front of the gleaming window of a shop as though considering their garish beach towels on display, studying the reflection of the man he'd spotted tailing him.

Not particularly tall, maybe an inch and a half shorter than Yassen himself. Dark hair cut short, possibly of Japanese or even Korean-descent if Yassen had to make a guess. Slender, but well muscled underneath the loose button up Hawaiian shirt that likely concealed a handful of discrete weapons if his stance suggested anything. A big, black digital camera hung from around his neck, probably just a prop given that he was alone in a sea of families and couples. A photographer on holiday.

It was the way the man moved that sealed it. A trained assassin could conceal a great many things about their true selves; blending in was a core part of the job, after all. However, when in pursuit of someone at least as skilled as yourself, it was next to impossible to push away the training that had kept you alive to truly blend in. The risk was too much to shake, in a counter-intuitive way. The average person never considers the way they walk, plowing forward with no regard for more than rudimentary balance and direction. Martial arts training was a whole different mindset, teaching you to walk smoothly as though preparing to adapt to every possible angle of attack.

Assassins who believed in coincidences tended to be dead assassins. Unless this man was coincidentally a photographer, a ballet dancer, and had decided the Russian man was his new creative muse, Yassen had been made.

He ambled forward, careful to pause in front of a handful of other shops as though seriously entertaining the idea of going in. Who had found him? It was unlikely to be any kind of legal authority or law enforcement, otherwise cruise security would be converging on him right now. One of the various intelligence agencies, perhaps, but probably not part of a larger team. Their cabin door would have been kicked in on the first day if the resources had been there to accomplish that, so if this was one of their men, he was likely a lone agent.

How long had he been following him? The camera had yet to be raised, but that didn't necessarily surprise him. With a smiling family running around, his follower might have an excuse to snap a picture of Yassen for identity confirmation, but without cover it was impractical. Yassen suspected that the man had already identified him and was simply tracking him to find a good method of attack.

Had the other assassin already discovered their cabin number? It almost didn't matter. Yassen couldn't lead him back to Alex.

Yassen finally made it to the end of the promenade. Climbing onto the first glass elevator to present itself, Yassen leaned against the guard rail as though he was more tired than he actually was. Fought the impulse to tense; he abhorred elevators for the risk such a tight space posed. It was important he been seen at the right time, however. Fortunately, the compartment was empty except for himself, so he took it up to the the sixth deck and stepped off. The cabin hallways were tucked behind the main leisure areas, meaning that Yassen was quickly out of sight of anyone who tried to follow him.

Tugging on the first door marked 'Staff', Yassen dropped his bag next to a pile of linens and pushed the door almost shut, leaving just a fraction of a gap to suggest his route. The room itself seemed to be some kind of laundry center with shelves of freshly folded linens stacked neatly on one side. Carts of stripped bedclothes lined the floor beneath. From the outside, however, the room could be anything: a cleaning closet, a staff entrance, or even a private stairwell to the next deck.

He didn't wait long.

As soon as the door eased open, Yassen prepared himself to strike. An amateur move was attacking as soon as you sensed a twitch from the door, leaving ample opportunity for your target to draw back and escape. Instead, Yassen waited until he could see the man's entire head follow him before he lashed out, aiming for his neck.

With a snarl, his would-be assailant stepped forward and twisted on his feet, narrowly avoiding Yassen's strike and shutting the door behind him. Prepared for this confrontation, most likely. The other man attempted to grab his arm and lock him in place, but Yassen followed his failed blow to his neck with a quick knee strike to his stomach.

It worked. Distracted and a little winded, the other man backed off.

Yassen studied him dispassionately. "Which organization do you represent?"

The man stiffened, brown eyes hardening as he reached for his camera, or more likely, for whatever weapon it concealed. "I'm just a messenger. There's-"

"No matter. We'll get to that soon enough." Yassen shook his head and struck again.

The man blocked his elbow aiming for his chest just in time. He recovered swiftly, swinging his own knee up into Yassen's stomach with a practiced ease, mimicking Yassen's earlier strategy. Definitely trained and trained well, if obviously green. Intelligence agent wasn't quite off the table, but Yassen was beginning to suspect he'd run into a fellow assassin. It certainly would explain why this man was on his own.

Yassen absorbed the blow easily, rolling into it to avoid being winded. Closing the gap between them, he drove his own palm into the other man's nose.

Head jerking backwards, the other man pivoted neatly to side and broke away. "You know, we're doing this the hard way. Why don't we just take a quick break and talk this over like men?"

Yassen considered him. How annoying. Muay thai was one of Yassen's specialties, but it seemed that this lone wolf was proficient enough in the art to know how to drag this fight out. It would be difficult to anticipate exactly what he knew. Fortunately, Yassen hadn't allowed himself to grow complacent with only one style of martial arts.

The man seemed to realize that this fight wasn't going to go his way based on skill alone. Reaching for his camera, he ripped free what had looked like the mount for the flash to reveal a thin, wickedly curved knife. "Have it your way."

Definitely an assassin.

Damn it. Yassen dodged the first swipe, shifting on his feet as he felt the shelves of linens press up against his back. Any idiot with a knife could eventually get a cut in given enough time and Yassen couldn't afford to get stabbed with Alex in such poor health. While he was comfortable doing basic stitches on himself, it would make it that much harder to step in when Alex episode's required it. His initial plan of slowly wearing the man down and eventually interrogating him would have to be put on hold.

Ah, well. He'd known he'd have to kill him the instant he'd spotted him anyway.

Yassen slid out of the way of the first knife strike and abruptly switched to Krav Maga. The lone assassin shifted, immediately arching his blade towards Yassen's neck. It wasn't a bad move, but Yassen had the benefit of experience. Slamming the back of his forearm into that of the striking man's, Yassen stepped to the side, sharply gripping the man's elbow, and punched him hard in the temple. Despite gasping in pain and staggering, the Lone Wolf wasn't down for the count yet: he hammered his elbow into Yassen's side to try and break the hold.

Yassen hissed through his teeth. It hurt like hell, even though he knew he wasn't seriously damaged. Yassen yanked hard on the elbow he still had control over and slammed it into the shelf beside him, aiming for the cluster of nerves he knew would give him exactly what he wanted.

Lone Wolf cried out, fingers twitching reflexively as he dropped the knife. Yassen left him no time to recover and swung him forward, slamming the man's forehead directly into the metal lip of the nearest laundry cart. It had been locked into place to prevent it from rolling with the waves; a pleasant surprise Yassen quickly took advantage of by repeating the gesture.

The man was still conscious, if only barely. With the threat of the knife gone, Yassen decided to go back to his original plan: drag as much information as possible out of him. Now to find a more private venue for this conversation. As easy as it would be to knock him out and wheel him away in a laundry cart, Yassen couldn't guarantee he'd remain unconscious for the right amount of time. Too little, and he'd wake in the cart. Too much, and Yassen would waste his time trying to question a brain damaged or dead man.

No. They'd have to walk out of this room together.

He shifted his grip on the man's neck and slammed his palm against the pressure point behind the ear. As Alex had hours before, the man staggered, unable to quite get his feet around him and flailing with little to no coordination.

Yassen scooped up the camera-knife, weighing it in his hands. Carbon fiber, if he had to take a guess. It was a well made, clever little thing.

It was already a miracle they hadn't been discovered fighting. Any more and they'd soon be beyond what any of the nearby cabins or staff members could write off as ambient noise.

Digging through the man's pockets, Yassen quickly produced a wallet while the man tried in vain to shove him away. He didn't bother glancing at the license or the name on the medical ID cards, both undoubtedly fake, but ripped the room card free of it's pocket without hesitation. He'd gotten lucky: the man's cabin was on this floor, just on the starboard side.

It'd be quite the walk.

Sighing, Yassen grabbed a bottle of vodka from his nearly forgotten bag and quickly unscrewed the cap. He splashed the man's shirt with the sharp smelling liquid, ignoring his startled splutters. Angling the knife in his hand neatly, he pressed it's sharp tip against the base of the failed assassin's spine and nudged him forward. "Walk. Your room."

The man evidently knew better to argue. If Yassen hadn't killed him yet, that meant he wanted something. Better to cooperate and figure out how to turn the tables. It was a choice Yassen had made himself several times and was alive to hail it's efficacy. Still staggering on his feet, the man stepped forward out of the closet and into the hall, Yassen's blade still hovering over his neck.

A passing couple gave them a double take, to which Yassen responded with an embarrassed smile. From this angle, it seemed like Yassen was using his hand to support the other man's weight as he steered him down the hallway. "Pardon us. He's just had a little too much to drink."

Reeking of Yassen's vodka, his would-be attacker scowled, but didn't really have the coordination or the death wish required to refute his words. Fortunately for them both, there hadn't been enough time for bruises to form, though Lone Wolf's nose was bloodied. A drunken brawl was an easy assumption.

The next two minutes seemed to take twenty. At long last, Yassen tugged open the door to the man's cabin and shoved him through, prepared when the man pivoted on his feet to attack. Yassen snorted a little to himself as he slammed him into the wall and hammered the back of his skull with the side of his palm.

If he had to guess, this assassin had only been out in the field for a year or so. Yassen had successfully survived fifteen. They were no match.

Yassen dragged the briefly unconscious man into the main cabin area before grabbing one of the metal chairs from the deck. There had to be restraints of some kind in the room. When targeting one of your own kind, it was important to keep your options open, thus several sets of supplies were a bit of a given. Ripping open the reinforced black suitcase atop the lone twin bed, Yassen dug around for less than a minute before his hands found the hard plastic of zip ties.

Interesting.

Once the man had been tied to the deck chair and gagged, Yassen took his camera from his neck and searched his pockets. Flipping open the small disposable phone, he quickly went through the call history. Nothing since last night. Ignoring the man as he blinked his way back to consciousness, Yassen set the phone aside in favor of exploring his bag. A small handgun had been concealed in the lining, as well as a handful of small knives and an unassuming laptop computer. Standard fare, so far.

What really interested him was the small pouch of syringes and the clear liquid accompanying them. The bottle claimed it was insulin, but Yassen suspected otherwise. While he supposed that statistically some assassins were bound to be diabetic, he doubted that this man really was. The sort of fighting he'd seen had been formally taught, and it was unlikely anyone would invest much time or money in training anyone in less than perfect health. Regular insulin shots and diabetic comas would be quite the hindrance on the job and this man didn't give the impression of a self-taught killer.

Examining the handgun, Yassen quickly loaded it and glanced up at his new captive. The man stared back at him, face tense but calm.

Good.

Yassen set the gun aside and stood, yanking the gag out of his mouth. "Who do you represent?" he demanded. They were both professionals; there was no need to make threats or exact pain.

Yet.

The man coughed and sucked in a deep breath before steadying himself. "Scorpia."

Yassen stifled the urge to groan. He'd hoped to cover more ground before he inevitably had to deal with his former employers. Still. No point crying over spilled milk. "I see. When did you make me?"

"In Cordoba. They assigned agents to every major city you've ever worked that borders on Gibraltar," the man told him. His English was perfectly accentless, though Yassen guessed it wasn't his native language. He studied Yassen's face. "Believe it or not, but I'm not actually here to kill you. Well, it's an option, but it's not my primary goal."

"And what is that primary goal?" Yassen asked him, sitting back on the man's bed.

"I was actually looking for an opportunity to approach you openly." The assassin tried to shrug through his restraints and only half-succeeded. "I've been sent to extend an offer to you. Complete and total forgiveness for your previous failure with Cray and your defection. If you accept, you will resume your previous status and compensation. No punishment, no retribution."

Yassen snorted. "How generous. Do you believe me that stupid or is Scorpia really that short staffed?"

The Scorpia agent grimaced. "Short staffed isn't far off. You should see the shit-show the latest board promotion created. I was told that your case is rather unusual."

Yassen said nothing, simply studied the man before him.

The agent sighed. "According to an assistant to the current board I talked to, there's a problem with the Russian mob contract. The way I've heard it, the biggest problem is that the Russians refuse to honor the agreement unless they can work with one agent, and one agent only: you."

"Is that so." Yassen didn't so much as blink. "And did this assistant say why?"

The man hesitated. "No."

"I see." Yassen stood and returned to the suitcase. Taking the small bottle and needles in hand, he gestured to the bound man. "Assuming I refuse your offer, what are your orders regarding me?"

The man's eyes fixed uneasily on the bottle. Yassen was careful to keep it in view. Clearly, the man had other contingency orders to cover all possible outcomes. Whoever had assigned him this job had to know the odds were high that Yassen wouldn't be interested in returning to the organization he'd just ripped off. Contract killers were not trusting by nature. Killing him for refusing their offer seemed obvious, but where did the syringes and chemical come in? There were far more effective ways to disguise poison.

Yassen had all the cards and they both knew it. He pulled out one of the syringes, slowly filling it. The man watched every drop. "Well, if you're diabetic, perhaps I ought to give you your shots. It says insulin on the bottle. If not, well, I'll just have to see what happens to you."

The man shook his head and shrugged as best as he could around his restraints. "It's just a sedative. I was told that if you refused, I should take the Rider kid hostage and call for backup. They would really, really like you alive. That was carefully stressed when I took the job. Near-dead is fine, but so long as you're alive it doubles the contract's payout."

Yassen scowled. "And failing that?"

The man shrugged again. "Kill you and take the kid. Or kill him too, if it was too much trouble to conceal him for extraction. Either way, I was supposed to get some samples of your blood." The agent snorted. "I guess you're a hard man to identify."

Right. Yassen smothered a sigh. Perhaps that was why he'd been thinking of his mother this morning; the note from Dr. Wood had mentioned the world's weird obsession with his blood. A strange little legacy of his parents' desperation to save him. As concerning as it was, it was a problem to pick apart on another day. At any rate, he doubted the assassin in front of him knew anything about it. Scorpia operated on a need-to-know basis, and even then they tended to err on the side of risking an operative's life rather than expose too much. It didn't matter if he was lying or not because the odds of this man knowing anything more than what had been in the initial contract were low. Torture would be a loud, risky waste of time.

Yassen glanced at the flip phone. No calls since last night, but the agent had identified him in Cordoba. Scorpia knew where he was.

"Are you on this ship alone?"

The man reluctantly nodded. "So far as I know. I barely got this cabin booked as it was."

Yassen didn't doubt it. His decision to take the cruise had been abrupt and getting tickets had been tricky. The odds that any other agents had been rerouted in time to make it aboard were slim. There was little reason to make it a priority. After all, where would Yassen go? The cruise had another week and a half before it reached Florida. Scorpia had plenty of time to arrange a welcoming party.

Yassen had no doubt that the offer of forgiveness was false. Scorpia never forgot and never forgave. Even in a time of duress, letting Yassen's betrayal slide would set a dangerous precedent. In all likelihood, it was simply a desperate lie the man had invented to get him to come along willingly.

He snorted. Citing the Russian mafia had been a sloppy move and proved that this particular contract killer was unfamiliar with the details of his work history. Despite his nationality, Yassen had been recruited under Julia Rothman. While she wasn't his boss by any stretch of the imagination, board members tended to hand pick assets they were familiar with. Thus Yassen had been assigned largely to interests in Europe, the Mediterranean, and the Middle East, traveling elsewhere only as needed. He may have worked with the Russian mafia once or twice, but never as anything more than a tangential subcontractor for a client. Even if his reputation had preceded him, Yassen doubted it was enough to hinge the outcome of a large contract.

He was good, but he wasn't _that_ good.

Standing, Yassen walked to the sliding glass door that led out onto the small balcony. It was smaller than the one in his and Alex's cabin, but that would work in his favor. Night had fallen across the ocean, the last beams of light giving the distant horizon a purple cast and rendering everything out of the range of the ship's artificial light a dark silhouette.

Good enough.

The man shifted in his seat, unable to see what Yassen was doing behind him. "Like I said, you're the prettiest girl at the ball right now and the current board really, really wants to dance. I'm authorized to make the offer, but if you don't trust me, that's fine. Take my phone and I'll give you the number for my handler. If you have any demands, Scorpia is willing to-"

Yassen snapped his neck.

Returning to the balcony, he pushed open the sliding door and stepped out, glancing at the neighboring balconies with care. Someone reporting a man overboard was the last thing he needed right now. While several lights were on, few people wanted to brave the Atlantic ocean's chill wind after dark. Yet there was always an exception. Four balconies down from his, two small boys under the age of ten were doing trick jumps with little toy cars, making ramps out of railings and deck chairs, squealing with delight, and chattering away happily in French.

Yassen settled against the railing to wait. Surely their mother or father would call them inside soon. He yawned and glanced back balefully at the bag containing his cigarettes before caving to the impulse. He was already going to have to wipe down the room as soon as he was done; a cigarette butt could be tossed overboard easily enough. Lighting up, he lounged in the second patio chair and looked up at the stars.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Here's another longer chapter to spoil you guys with, only this time it's from Alex's POV. As always, comments are very much appreciated. I always love some constructive criticism, but even if all that's on you mind is how much you liked something, it would really help me out to know what it is. After all, it can be a little tricky to figure out what works and what doesn't. ^^

Alex awoke gradually, trying to burrow deeper into his blankets to keep warm. As sleep began to peel away, he became more and more aware of a persistent flapping sound. Screwing up his face, he pushed himself onto his elbows and blearily looked for the source. The balcony door had been left open just a crack and the cool Atlantic wind rippled across the drapes.

Staggering to his feet, Alex dragged it shut before turning to collapse back on his bed. Glancing at the clock, he realized with a jolt that he must have passed out for at least a couple of hours. No, wait. Not passed out: slept. He'd dreamt while he'd been down, of what he couldn't remember. Just that it was warm and he'd felt safe for the first time in a long time, that his mother had seen to it-

Right. His mother.

Alex furrowed his brows, struggling to piece together fragmented details. Had he dreamt his mum holding his hand or had he hallucinated it? He supposed it didn't matter since he'd managed to sleep either way. It still nagged at him. Why did he have memories of a hand taking his? His brain couldn't invent flashbacks that never happened. It hadn't been part of his memory of lying on the pavement outside the Royal and General. He'd wanted to reach out and take hers, but hadn't had the strength to. Had figured he was moments away from death anyway.

And where was Yassen?

Alex pushed himself off the bed a second time and went to investigate. The bathroom was empty and it wasn't as though there was anywhere else to hide. Yassen must be out grabbing more stuff or enjoying his freedom to walk about the ship. Not bothering to stifle his resentment of that fact, Alex realized his shirt was sticking to his body with sweat and decided to shower for the first time in days.

The cool water felt heavenly sluicing over his feverish skin. He stood under the spray as long as he could to clear his head. He still felt achey, miserable, and starving, but the worst of his symptoms had ebbed. Sleep must have done him some good. As much as he wished he could count on the Sandman to find him again, he knew that his slumber could just as easily be a fluke.

He had to take advantage of his meager energy.

Climbing out of the shower, Alex dug out a clean set of clothes and dressed quickly. He'd seen Yassen tuck the spare keycard to their cabin into the wardrobe on the first day. Finding it quickly, he poked his head out of the room and examined the hallway. Empty, aside from a young woman with a severe bun in a white uniform pushing a cart laden with fresh towels, sheets, and cleaning supplies.

She glanced at him as she approached, clearly taking in the Do Not Disturb sign that had likely decorated their door for days. "Lucky, lucky. You're my last room on my round tonight. Is there anything I can get you, love? I've noticed your sign has been up since we raised anchor."

Alex nodded and smiled. "Oh, I haven't been feeling well. Can we get some fresh towels?"

"Sure thing." The woman nodded and stooped to pull them off the bottom shelf. When she straightened, she smiled a touch tiredly at the boy. The way she shifted on her feet made Alex suspect she'd been on them all day. "Do you want me to make your room up for you while I'm at it? There's a magic show in the main auditorium right now, if you'd like to see it. I can be in and out before you're back."

He shook his head. "No, that's alright. I think the towels should be all we need. Thank you." Once she'd faded from view and into a staff corridor, Alex studied the keycard he'd pick-pocketed from her uniform's wide pocket.

Perfect.

Wishing bitterly for his iPod, Alex took the elevators down two decks and picked the emptiest hallway he could find. Soon the woman would realize she was missing her card and recall the last room she'd been able to access. It was far safer to search the rooms at least a deck or so away from his and Yassen's. He couldn't afford to leave a trail.

Holding his breath, Alex picked his first door. Pressing his ear against it yielded no sound, but he wished he could use the surveillance and infrared functions on his iPod to double check. Oh, well. He was already feeling tired and Yassen would probably come back to their room soon. He had to move fast.

Shoving open the door, Alex peered in, relieved to realize that all of the lights were off. He shut it behind him and engaged the deadbolt, not that he knew how he'd make a getaway if someone did return. Tugging open the door to the loo, he stepped over a pile of dirty, plus sized clothes and began rifling through the vanity. Each offered several compartments, ideal for trips longer than a few days. This particular cruise was for twenty one. Though Alex and Yassen wouldn't be staying the full amount of time and lived out of their bags, this vacationer had opted to unpack at least halfway. Apart from a few toothbrushes, a brush, and some mouthwash, he didn't find anything. Scowling, he took a cursory glance through their wardrobe.

A wide set of purple suitcases with roses on them stood upright near the beds. Not particularly eager to dig through strangers' underwear, Alex poked around just enough to realize that they were mostly full of clothes and souvenirs.

Despair washed over him. There was nothing.

He quickly unlatched the door and stepped back into the empty hallway. So the first room he'd tried had been a bust. So what? If his luck held and everyone was at the auditorium watching the show, he could check more rooms. He only had to get lucky once.

The next was a little better. Empty, as he'd hoped, with suitcases left wide open and messy. A young family, he guessed, stepping over a handful of educational toys strewn about the carpet. He ignored the wad of cash sitting out in the open on the coffee table. The vanity cabinet in this cabin offered him an unexpected boon: a small bottle of bubble-gum flavored codeine cough syrup prescribed to a Jenny Yerkov.

Alex hesitated, fingers clutching the small bottle as he half raised it to his lips. The codeine would be amazing. With just a sip, he would feel so much better. He almost cried thinking of it- the muscle aches were coming back full force as well as the dizziness that had plagued him since he'd set foot on this stupid ship. At this point, he'd swallow a chunk of lava if he thought it would make him feel better for even a minute. He turned the little brown bottle in his hands, unable to shake his fear that he was stealing medicine from a sick infant. Why else would it be bubblegum flavored?

Necessity is the mother of invention. Alex quickly settled on a compromise: ethical drug stealing.

Snatching a small paper cup from a dispenser on the counter, he poured out a tablespoon of the cough syrup and knocked it back. Just enough to get him to the next room, but not enough that he felt bad about stealing candy-flavored drugs from a baby. Replacing the bottle, he quickly tidied up after himself and left.

Two more rooms proved themselves a waste of time and offered little more than dramamine and tylenol. Moving on, Alex began to regret his decision to cut Jenny Yerkov a break when he finally struck the motherlode: a vanity covered in little orange bottles. Checking the labels frantically, Alex swallowed the urge to just shove them all into his pockets and go. He couldn't pronounce any of their names must less tell you what they did, but none of them looked like chemicals he recognized. Shaking slightly, he kept checking, reading out what the generic names were in hopes he could recognize a prefix or a suffix. He needed have bothered: the last bottle was clearly labeled percocet.

"Thank god," he muttered, feeling his shoulders slump in relief. He bit his lip and stared at the thirty or so pills rattling in the bottle. Tried to convince himself to just shove them all in his pocket.

Ethical drug stealing aside, Alex felt awful at the idea of stealing medicine from someone in pain, regardless of age. He didn't know what these other tablets were for, but they all had the same patient name on them, so whatever Daniel Herder was suffering from was likely severe. Was it too optimistic to hope he was a hypochondriac? Most definitely. But Alex was sick too and it wasn't like he had any other options. All he had was that over-the-counter garbage Yassen brought him and none had worked, no matter how much Alex took. These people could go see the ship's doctor if they had to, the lucky bastards. Why should he have to suffer while they had access to all the treatment they wanted?

His fingers whitened against the edge of the bottle.

He wasn't entirely convinced Jenny Yerkov's parents wouldn't notice the dose missing from the bottle. What if they reported it? Alex hadn't seen any cameras in the hallway, but there might be something he was missing that could tie him to the thefts. Thinking was hard through all the pain. He could have easily forgotten something.

Sighing, Alex unscrewed the lid and shook four white pills into his palm and replaced the bottle. There. Now Daniel Herder would get the majority of his meds and probably wouldn't notice the discrepancy until Alex was long gone.

Tucking the pills into his pocket, Alex quickly left the cabin and picked the next. If he was going to be kind and only take a few pills at a time, he'd just have to increase the number of cabins he searched. It was simply the price he had to pay for having such a love-hate relationship with his morals nowadays. How many had he searched already? Five? Six?

His luck ran out on the next cabin. Pushing open the door, he stepped in only to come face to face with a middle aged woman with a bright red perm.

She froze. "Perdóneme? Quién eres tú?"

Alex stepped backwards, hardly having to pretend to be surprised. Tried to ignore the pounding of his heart or the sudden urge to flee. "Este no es mi camarote." He glanced down at his card as though surprised and swiftly took off, calling over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him. "Que extraño. Perdón por molestarte!"

Fortunately, Alex made it another deck down before he had a panic attack in the stairwell.

How could he have been so careless? He'd stopped listening at the doors for any sound that someone might be inside as he'd gotten more and more comfortable. Everyone seemed to be out, despite the evening hour, but obviously that couldn't be true. He'd gotten sloppy. It was bad enough that he devolved to becoming a thief, but a shitty one too? He could have ruined everything. If he got caught, that was it: he had no way of contacting Yassen. He didn't even know where the man was. If they were recognized because Alex did something stupid, there was nowhere for either of them to run this far out at sea. MI6 would board the ship and take them into custody before they could do anything!

He was so stupid! If they got caught, it would be all his fault!

His hand drifted to his pocket where the four pills rested. At his old pace, they would last him maybe a day, if that.

Taking a deep breath, Alex straightened. He had to keep going. One more room, then he was done.

Descending another deck, Alex picked his mark. No one had come in or out of the hallway for at least two minutes, so either everyone was settling in for the night or still making the most of the ship's entertainment. He remembered spotting a casino on his way in, so perhaps there were lots of things to keep people busy until well after midnight.

Listening carefully at the door this time, Alex gently pushed the door open before entering completely. He sighed in relief. It was empty. He shut the door behind him and bolted it, determined not to make any more stupid mistakes.

Nothing of interest in the bathroom vanity, but Alex had to make the most of his last room of the night. He ripped open the navy blue duffle bag between the bed impatiently and dug around, hoping to feel the hard plastic of a pill bottle. Clothes, clothes, a little porcelain replica of the ship, a few keychains, and… His fingers found a small white bottle. He checked the label: lortab.

Wonderful.

It wasn't a painkiller he'd taken before, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He shook out about six or seven pills this time. It was the only prescription he'd found, so compared to Daniel Herder, Alex was feeling less charitable towards whatever pain Randall McCarthy found himself in.

The doorknob rattled. With a sharp crack, the sliding deadbolt engaged, only allowing the door to open a crack. "Hey! Who's in there?"

Alex whipped around. Given the angle of the hallway, there was no way for the man to see him. It was a small comfort: he was still trapped in the cabin. Even if he managed to overpower the man after months of not eating well or practicing his karate, there was no way he could avoid being seen. The door was the only way in or out, unless Alex felt the sudden urge to throw himself off the balcony like a drug-pilfering dolphin and swim his way to fucking safety.

Actually…

Hearing the door rattle and thud, Alex abandoned the rest of the bottle on top of the duffle bag and shoved open the sliding glass door. Climbing atop the balcony railing, he glanced down at the dark, broiling sea where it slapped against the ship and jumped.

His stomach slammed into the railing of the next balcony over. The gap between them had to only be about five feet wide, but Alex hadn't had room or time to take it at a run. Grabbing the metal with desperate strength, Alex dragged himself over the edge and flopped awkwardly onto the new balcony.

The luck of the devil was on his side, at least in part. This room was empty. Alex made his way through it, pausing at the door.

His next door neighbor was still pounding on the door, hollering loudly in English. "Hey! I don't know who the fuck you are, but if you don't open this fucking door I'm calling security! You know what, I'm doing that right now. I'm going to find someone and-" Footsteps angrily pounding away.

Alex held his breath to the count of fifteen. Steadying himself, he eased open the door and strolled out. A giggling group of women in their early thirties pushed past him without a second glance. Walking confidently but quickly, Alex made his way to the elevators and returned to his cabin.

Yassen still wasn't there.

At first, Alex was grateful to have his panic attack in peace without having to answer any awkward questions about where he had been for the last hour. However, as his breaths to the count of four evened out, he found himself growing agitated. Yassen had been acting weird for the last few days. Alex had chalked it up to what a pain in the arse taking care of him had been, but maybe the problem was bigger than that. Maybe Yassen had been telling the truth about not knowing why he was taking care of Alex. Maybe demanding the answer from him had actually forced him to realize that he was wasting his time and energy on a kid he wasn't even related to.

Sitting on one of the stuffed chairs in front of the coffee table, Alex drew his knees up under himself. A shiny foil wrapper peeked up at him from the table. Turning over the Pop-Tart in his hands, he ripped open the wrapper and nibbled it with little enthusiasm. His stomach settled, but his nerves refused to abate.

Yassen could hardly abandon him on a cruise ship, right? There was nowhere to go. Unless he was really that peeved with Alex- he wouldn't put it past the man to hijack another helicopter.

His stomach squirmed as he felt a small trickle of heat flush his cheeks. Oh, god. He had half-formed memories of his mother holding his hand and the smell of the cigarettes Yassen had been smoking. Had that been a dream or had he really called Yassen 'mum'?

Another wave of embarrassment crashed over him and he had to bury his face in his hands.

Digging one of the percocet out of his pocket, Alex swallowed it before tucking the rest underneath his pillow. It was an almost infantile hiding place, of course, but at least it was within easy reach. Even if Yassen tied him to the headboard again, he'd still be able to get at them. The keycard proved to be a bit more challenging. In the end, Alex used the pen from the room's stationary set to dig up a corner of the carpet. Tucking his stolen goods against the exposed metal floor, he stamped the covering back down and hoped Yassen wouldn't notice anything.

Assuming he came back at all. Where was he?

Too tense to properly doze, Alex maintained his perch in the chair, unable to look away from the door for more than a few seconds at a time. Alex had been awake for three hours now; the longest Yassen had ever left him alone in the room. It didn't take that long to run to whatever little shop Yassen had been going to for the last few days. Still hungry, Alex tore into the scattered collection of candy bars throughout the room. It did little to satisfy him, but at least it was something to focus on.

Another thought crept in, spiking his anxiety. Had Yassen tried to come back when Alex had been out stealing from the sick and the elderly? Shame flared within him, but it was easier to push away this time as the codeine kicked in. Yassen might be out looking for him if Alex hadn't been in the room when he'd returned.

Or very specifically not looking for him. Maybe Yassen was enjoying a break from dealing with Alex's shit. Maybe he was commandeering a lifeboat and escaping before Alex could call him 'dad' this time-

The turn of the handle cracked like a gunshot. He stiffened in his chair, feeling dread and relief mingle in his chest as Yassen came into view. Had he always looked so tired?

Yassen paused at seeing Alex awake, showered, and sitting upright. "Sleep well?"

Was that a probe? Did he know that Alex had left the room? Or was he hinting at the 'mum' thing?

Alex felt his cheeks warm. "Got in a few hours at least. Where were you?"

Yassen dropped another brown shopping back on Alex's bed. "Shopping."

"For three and a half hours?"

"Among other things." Yassen hesitated, looking at him. "How lucid are you?"

Alex flushed again. Yeah, Yassen was definitely remembering the 'mum' thing. "I'm fine," he snapped, feeling testy all of a sudden. So Yassen hadn't abandoned him. Yet. "Fever's dying down. What other things?"

Yassen dug a bottle of vodka out of the bag and shoved it in the mini-fridge beside the entertainment center with more force than necessary. Returning to the bag, he pulled open the drawer of the beside table and dropped a small handgun and a bottle of liquid inside. "A Scorpia agent followed us on board."

Alex surged to his feet. "They found us?"

"I handled it, but yes, they know where we are." Yassen pulled a pack of cigarettes and took a long glance at Alex before he yanked open the balcony door. Cold ocean air flooded into the room. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it," Alex echoed. He glowered and wrapped his arms around himself. Even with the drugs kicking in, he still felt like shit. He was in no condition for a fight. "A Scorpia agent tracked us down and we're trapped on a slow-moving ship with nowhere else to go. And I'm not supposed to worry?"

"I handled it," Yassen ground out, lighting his cigarette with a small disposable lighter he pulled from the pocket of his jeans. He stepped out onto the balcony and leaned against the railing.

In the doorway, Alex stared at him from under his overgrown bangs. "Handled it how?"

"How do you think?" Yassen scowled at his cigarette and looked out over the dark waves.

Alex bit his lip hard enough to draw a small droplet of blood. "You killed him."

"He would have killed us both," Yassen snapped, jerking a hand at the bedside table. "He intended to kidnap you in order to lure me out. You don't need to worry about it any more because I handled it, just like I'll handle the rest of it."

"You mean them coming after us now that they know where we are." Alex's voice flattened. "How do you plan on doing that? Let me guess. More murder?"

Yassen's flat glare more or less confirmed the accusation. "Not necessarily."

"So how?"

"I don't know exactly how. A good plan is adaptable. Just because I don't intend to kill anyone doesn't mean I won't, Alex." Yassen shook his head. With a side glance at Alex, he seemed to realize that he had to yield some ground if he wanted to end the line of questioning. "I was thinking I might dose a passenger with that sedative. If I get it right, the ship will either have to make an emergency stop or request assistance from other vessels. We can seize those opportunities."

"Don't," Alex snapped. "What if they die because you give them too much? You can't just kill random passengers."

Yassen grimaced and looked away. "Just focus on getting better and let me deal with the logistics of not getting caught."

"Why?"

"Because I'm better at it."

Alex ground his teeth. "Not that. Why are you doing this? Don't pretend like it's easy. What do you get out of taking care of me?"

"Not this again," Yassen grumbled.

Alex rounded on him, still hovering in the doorway. "Yes, this again! Don't brush me off. Why are you doing all this for me? Specifically, tell me why."

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why does this matter so much? I just am. Don't worry about it."

"Because it makes no sense!" Alex spat, balling up his fists. How could Yassen just stand there, so condescending? There was zero reason why he shouldn't understand how important the question was and Alex was sick of having to justify asking. "I know I'm miserable to deal with, I know you've been going crazy having to deal with my problems. You don't have to! You owe me nothing, so why are you still here?"

Yassen waved his cigarette at the ocean lightly. "That's a silly question. Like I can go anywhere else."

Alex felt his expression shutter. So Yassen was planning on leaving him on his own at some point. Now was just a bad time. Bloody fantastic. "That still doesn't tell me why."

Yassen sighed, face hidden in shadow. "I don't know why. I already told you that."

"Bullshit."

"Language, little Alex."

Alex glared at the older man, fighting the urge to pummel him. He'd lose quickly and he really didn't want to be tied up again. How did Yassen not understand? Would he really do all of this for no particular reason? That had to be the literal definition of insanity. To think that Alex thought he was the crazy one between the two of them.

How did Yassen expect Alex to believe that he didn't have his reasons for even a second?

It didn't seem like a lie, though. Yassen seemed pretty uncomfortable both times he'd answered, as though he genuinely wished he knew himself. But Alex couldn't just accept that; he needed more. He trusted Yassen with his life; after everything he'd done for him, he had no reason not to (though he definitely didn't trust Yassen with anyone else's). As far as Alex could tell, Yassen had burnt a lot of bridges getting them both out of prison alive. He knew the assassin would have his back if bullets started flying, but why?

It was driving him mad. If Alex couldn't understand what motivated this bizarre level of commitment, then he had no chance of knowing when to expect it to end. Everyone left eventually. Alex didn't like it, it was just something he had come to bitterly accept about his life. Even Alex wanted to leave Alex, given the sheer magnitude of his problems. If he didn't know what kept Yassen going, then how would he recognize it if any of that changed? How would he even have a chance of trying to fix things if he didn't know what might break?

It would hurt when Yassen got sick of dealing with him, regardless of whether or not he knew why- Alex was certain it would. Without another word, he knocked the bag off his bed, enjoying the crunching noise of whatever was inside hitting the floor and knowing he was acting like a spoiled brat. Climbed under the blankets and angrily yanked them up around himself.

Yassen leaving him was inevitable. It would hurt. Alex just didn't want to be surprised when it happened. Was that really too much to ask?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! As always, reviews make me feel warm and fuzzy and oh-so-rewarded for my obsessive daydreaming on this topic. Even if you don't have any constructive criticism to offer on writing elements, I'm always stoked to hear everyone's thoughts on the story or chapter as a whole. :D
> 
> Also, I made sure to include the second POV (Alex's) today instead of adding it in with next week's chapter as planned. Feel free to thank galimau for her super long, super thorough review last week. :D

Another two days passed at a crawl. Yassen was used to it, in his own way. Prison had been excessively dull and the time between contract killings had often meant days of sitting quietly in a hotel room or staking out a rural location. Even so, since their escape, Yassen had realized how much he missed being able to fill his days with things that felt important. At his core, Yassen had enjoyed his work because he was a problem solver. Scorpia was employed exclusively to solve those of the rich and the insane. Perhaps that's why taking care of Alex had felt natural after a while: the boy's life was a trainwreck. In a sea of problems, Yassen could offer solutions.

Sickness was not one of those. At least the boy's condition had improved over the last two days. He didn't sleep for more than a few hours at time, but he was resting reliably enough for Yassen to catch intermittent naps. His symptoms still worried him- Alex alternated between shivering and sweating, his temper flaring up as often as his panic attacks, and his hallucinations were still going strong. However, he seemed a lot less plagued than before: his headaches were no longer splitting, his muscle pain had abated, he was eating a little every day, and he was lucid. Yassen still had to remind him to brush his teeth and do his morning stretches, but at this point he was more inclined to chalk that up to Alex being a teenager, and thus, by extension, an idiot.

Apart from dreading the boy would demand to know his motivations again, Yassen found himself relaxing in spite of his better instincts. It wasn't over, not by a long shot, but he wasn't drowning in helplessness anymore. The worst of the boy's benzo withdrawal had passed. They'd both survived. As unprepared for the stranger, more emotional aspects of taking care of Alex, Yassen no longer felt like it was a mistake leaving Gibraltar.

Things were good.

Alex glanced up from where he crankily sat on the floor cross-legged, watching some cartoon on the cruise line's satellite entertainment package. It featured a yellow talking sea sponge with an annoying laugh and looked a little too immature for Alex, not that Yassen was one to judge children's shows. "Can you buy me more aspirin? My headache is getting worse."

Yassen tossed him the bottle from his bedside table. "You've got a quarter of the bottle left."

Alex hesitated and shook out two, taking them without saying anything else. After another minute of cartoons, he turned back to Yassen. "What about more peanut butter Twixs? I'm hungry."

Yassen shrugged from where he sat in front of the coffee table, enjoying the sun and the sea breeze washing over him from the open sliding glass door, considering going out for a smoke. "You've had two already. Is it urgent?"

Alex looked down at his lap. "No, not really. I'm just a little bored, I guess."

Yassen shrugged. "I can get you a book the next time I'm at the shop."

The boy scowled, as Yassen had expected. "No, thanks. I don't think I'll ever be much of a reader. I miss my xbox more than I thought I would, though."

Yassen watched him stand with a small frown. Something seemed off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "If the hallucinations slow down, you can explore the ship soon. There's an arcade on deck eight. That should keep you busy for a while."

"That'd be nice," Alex said absently as he entered the cabin's little restroom and shut the door.

Yassen drummed his fingers against the arms of the chair. What was nagging at him? Alex had said something. If it was a hallucination, Alex probably had it under control if he hadn't mentioned it. He didn't seem to focus his eyes on empty space, the way he normally did when caught in the throes of something. Replaying their entire morning, Yassen couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. At least-

His eyes settled on the bottle of aspirin. Now that he thought about it, it was strange that Alex had asked for more. He barely showed any interest in them at all these days; he'd been pretty upfront with Yassen about how little they helped manage his discomfort. Asking for more candy bars was also odd since Alex usually only ate when prompted. Boredom seemed like a reasonable motivator, he supposed, but then why not change the channel a few times at least?

Something didn't fit.

Yassen instincts had been honed over years of contract killing, not dealing with moody teenagers. A month of minding him at the prison hadn't been enough time to truly learn to read the boy. Even so, something was telling him that Alex had wanted him out of the room. Why?

He'd just have to ask directly. Rising, he strode over to the bathroom door. Knuckles poised to knock, Yassen paused as he heard the faint sounds of…. Snorting?

He stepped back, thrown. What was Alex doing in there and did Yassen want to know?

Soft thuds, as though something was being crushed against the counter, followed by more snorting. Alex coughed.

While limited in experience with chronic drug addicts, it only took Yassen a split-second to figure it out. He ripped open the door. "Alex."

Alex looked up, eyes wide, from where he'd been piling a small bit of white powder on the edge of his fist. "Oh, er- I'm just-"

Furious, Yassen grabbed his wrist and dragged him forward to examine the powder clinging to his skin. He didn't recognize what it was specifically, but he knew a crushed tablet when he saw one. Some kind of painkiller, most likely. Part of him didn't really want to know any more than that but, then again, none of him wanted to be in this situation in the first place. Gripping Alex's chin next, he studied the white flecks lining his nostrils, ignoring Alex's glare and attempt to pull his face back. "What is that?"

Alex shoved him awkwardly, unable to free his wrist. "Don't worry about it."

Yassen tightened his grip and shook him. "You're snorting pills in the bathroom and I'm not supposed to worry about it?"

Snarling, Alex spat out each word with emphasis, still trying to pry himself free. "Why does it matter? I just am. Don't worry about it."

Stung to have his own words flung back at him, Yassen didn't realize he'd slapped Alex until he heard the sound echo in the small room.

Brown eyes stared at him, impossibly wide. They both froze. Alex's face creased with something like betrayal. Yassen hated the look instinctively. "Get off of me."

Yassen shoved down a sharp surge of resentment (-of all the times Alex had struck out at Yassen in the throws of a temper tantrum, the one time Yassen did anything- and only slapped him without evening hurting him-). "Stop behaving like a child. What is that and where did you get it?"

"I am a child," Alex fired back. He looked away from Yassen, jaw clenched.

Yassen tightened his grip, feeling the words "look at me when I'm talking to you" forming on the tip of his tongue. A memory rose up, an old one, of his old headmaster in Russia dispensing academic and behavioral discipline with his fists. Lavrov hated it when Leo wouldn't meet his eyes, pinned by the throat as he was and defiantly-

Frustration peaked alongside regret. Yassen shook himself. Striking out of anger was always a mistake, or at least he'd been told so by an old friend once.

John Rider really had been a preachy bastard.

He didn't release Alex, though he loosened his hold from 'bruising' to 'firm'.

Alex struggled for another few seconds before deciding it was just easier to answer Yassen than to try to fight his way out. Not that he knew how to get out of this particular move- Yassen made a quick mental note to show him how much further down the road when it wasn't so critical that Yassen be able to restrain him. "It's lortab. I stole it."

"You stole it?" Yassen echoed, swallowing the urge to shake him again. This stupid kid. Did he even understand the risk? Frustrated as he was, he fought the impulse to lash out a second time: he already felt like a brute and Alex was giving him the answers he wanted. Why was the boy still looking at him like that? "When?"

"The night you handled the Scorpia agent, I guess," the boy muttered.

Yassen's tone dulled. "That's why you've been feeling better. You got your fix."

"No, I got medicine," Alex snapped, meeting his eyes. "I've been in pain for days. I couldn't think, I couldn't sleep. I just wanted to die. That's what I thought, you know- that my mum had come to take me to die-" Alex broke off and shook his head. "I just want to feel half-functional, not get high. I don't enjoy it. I'm not an addict."

"That's why you're snorting it?" Yassen demanded, releasing Alex's arm. "That's how normal people take medicine?"

Alex rubbed his wrist, eyes flicking to the crushed powder on the vanity. "It's supposed to make it work better. At least, that's what someone at Rosethorne told me once. I've never done it before, but I'm almost out of pills and everything's starting to hurt again. I can't just do nothing."

"Of course you can't." That was the thing about Alex after all.

Yassen dragged a hand across his face, furious and tired and somehow disappointed. That last feeling was both powerful and nebulous; he couldn't even begin to tell where it stemmed or at whom it was directed. Things had seemed so much better the last two days, but it turned out it was just a worse problem rearing its head. Yassen regretted his optimism, not for the first time. "Give it to me. Everything you stole."

Alex shook his head and stepped back against the toilet. "No. You can't flush them. The aspirin doesn't help."

"Now."

"Really? Do you want me to be miserable that badly or are you just a masochist? Don't pretend that these have only made my life tolerable. Things have been much better for you since I started."

Yassen folded his arms. "That's true. Hand them over."

Alex hesitated, studying Yassen. It didn't take much for the assassin to understand where the boy's thoughts were going. His eyes darted to the door a few times, but Yassen blocked his escape. It wasn't like Alex could hide from him forever, even if he did make it out of the cabin. Of course, Yassen had acknowledged Alex's point and the boy clearly didn't know what to make of that. "What are you going to do with them?" he asked at length.

Yassen grimaced and took a small step back, letting Alex have some space. "I'm going to hold them. If you want more, you'll have to ask."

"I'm not an addict," Alex insisted. "I'm not taking them by the fistful."

"I'm not saying that you are. You had trouble forming memories earlier, so you might forget how much you've taken if your fever flares up. It's just a normal part of withdrawal. I looked it up." Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Believe it or not, I am trying to keep you alive and healthy."

Alex dropped his head in his hands, scowling at his feet. Yassen prepared himself to argue the point, but after a minute, Alex sighed. "Do you promise not to flush them?"

"When have I ever lied to you?"

Alex grimaced, but still couldn't come up with an example. Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and dragged out his clenched fist. "There's only two lortab left. I finished the percocet this morning."

"Where did you steal this from?" Yassen asked him, turning over the tablets in his palm and memorizing their white, oval shape and the imprinted string of numbers and letters. He could only assume he'd need to be able to recognize them on sight in the future.

"I don't remember the cabin," Alex admitted, rubbing his face. His eyes tracked the pills as Yassen shoved them into his own pocket. "I didn't take all of what was in the bottle."

"Oh?"

Yassen's tone had been deliberately devoid of emotion, but Alex squirmed nonetheless. "I didn't want to leave anyone who's sick in a bad spot. That's why I ran out of percocet so soon. He had a bunch of other medications, so I took fewer painkillers. I don't know what's wrong with him but it's probably just as bad as what I've got."

Something in Yassen softened. He exhaled softly. While he had underestimated the scope of Alex's drug dependence, he was still Alex. The same boy who had misguidedly risked a bullet from Cray to save the lives of people in poverty-stricken countries he'd never travel to. He had changed, of course. Alex was damaged by his experiences, but his empathy, at least in part, had survived the storm.

It was enough.

"How many have you taken today?"

Alex gestured to the crushed lortab. "Apart from that? I took one tablet this morning."

Yassen considered that. "And yesterday?"

"Four. Two lortab, two percocet. Percocet's better." Alex shifted on his feet and folded his arms.

"What were you planning to do when you ran out tonight?" Yassen asked, already suspecting the answer.

Alex grimaced. "What do you think?"

"Don't." Yassen felt his lips thin as he considered the problem. He doubted that the ship's infirmary had serious pain pills- too much of a liability issue, especially given the prevalence of abuse. If someone were seriously injured onboard, it made more sense to stop for emergency services at whatever port was nearest rather than risk a lawsuit over an overdose at sea. As for Alex's strategy of knocking off cabins one by one, it was far too risky for such low odds of reward. Yassen would just have to figure out a different avenue to get him prescription grade painkillers. It shouldn't be impossible on a ship that catered to the indulgent. "We can't afford any attention if you get caught."

Carefully administered, supervised painkillers.

Alex scowled. "I'm not an idiot. I used a staff keycard and only searched cabins on a different deck than ours."

"Don't," Yassen reiterated. He waited, staring the boy down. "Alex?"

"Okay, okay. I won't." Alex shuffled on his feet again, clearly expecting more.

Yassen stepped out of the bathroom and grabbed his coat off the peg, digging around for his wallet. Double checked the amount of cash he pulled out. Should be enough if he found what he was looking for. He turned back to Alex, who hadn't moved, still watching him. "Stay in the room. It's noon now, so I assume you'll need your next dose around four?" At Alex's stiff nod, he added, "I'll be back before then. And don't snort the rest of that. It's bad for your nasal passages."

O

Alex didn't move as the door shut behind the Russian assassin. In fact, he stood there for a long time, unable to really get out of his own head.

What the hell?

Snorting the lortab had probably been a stupid move, in hindsight. Since Alex had gotten on the pills, he'd become more tolerable to be around, thus Yassen was inclined to leave the room less. There was no way he could have expected to not get caught with Yassen "Hearing of a Bird of Prey" Gregorovich within twenty yards. He should have hidden the man's cigarettes instead and waited until he left to get more. Alex coughed again and made a face, tasting the sharp flavor of the pills in the back of his throat. So far, he didn't notice any difference, except that he'd probably wasted half the pill by crushing it into such fine, blowable powder.

In the end, Alex tipped the rest onto his palm and licked it off in one go. It'd have to do, even if the pain was going to make a comeback.

Great. Just great. Alex washed his hands in the sink, leaning his forehead against the cold glass of the mirror. Now Yassen was going to hover over him and take control of Alex's fucking pill regimen too. Why? Alex wasn't a bloody drug addict! It wasn't like he was blindly shoving pills in his mouth just for fun. He only ever took as much as he needed. He even memorized the signs of an overdose when he'd first started using. He didn't need Yassen to hold his hand and take over yet another important part of Alex's life.

Alex bit his lip as he dried his hands. At least he'd been smart enough to not mention that he still had the staff keycard. It might have already been deactivated by now, but he hoped not. After all, Yassen was currently holding Alex's only remaining pills, but he was set to run out tonight anyway. He could still go looking for more if he was careful.

Probably not tonight, though. Yassen might have lied about when he'd be back, just to see if Alex kept his promise or not.

And he had promised. Alex flopped onto his bed, staring at the bright blue sky visible past the balcony. Could he really break his promise to Yassen that easily? He trusted Yassen, or thought he did, but then again, Yassen had never fucking hit him before. That stung on a level Alex hadn't expected. While part of him was well aware that he had struck Yassen many times, it only reminded him of the fundamental difference between them: Alex couldn't hurt Yassen even if he tried, but that was definitely not true in reverse. If Yassen wanted to harm Alex, there was very little he could do about it. Being slapped was a painful reminder of that fact.

He needed to remind himself more often that Yassen was dangerous.

Exactly when had Alex gotten it in his head that Yassen wouldn't hurt him? He'd killed his uncle, blown up the Pleasures' vacation house, thrown Alex into a live bull fight, and threatened to cut off Sabina's fingers. Hell, he'd created an impressive body count in the last week alone, even if it had been mostly Scorpia people out to kill them. Just because he'd said he'd never be able to kill Alex because of his weird past with his father didn't mean he was adverse to injuring him or ruining his life. He had every reason to expect violence from the man, and yet, even when he'd first approached him in prison, he hadn't really thought it likely.

Alex wasn't even scared of Yassen now. He was furious.

And why the fuck was he keeping Alex around in the first place? It was nice enough of him to break them out of prison, but the man wasn't even getting library or gym privileges to babysit him anymore. It made much more sense for him to do what he'd always done before they'd both wound up in prison, which was show up working for someone evil, do something massively impactful in Alex's life, and then vanish as quickly as he came like a fucking human hurricane. Why hang around? Alex was willing to believe that Yassen was sincere in not knowing exactly why, but he had to have some idea.

"Stupid, bloody, fucking Yassen…" he snarled. Alex punched his pillow until he felt a little better. His creeping headache had abated drastically since he'd gone into the bathroom and now he worried that maybe crushing the pill would result in a more intense, but shorter dose.

It was a shame that he had to be equally suspicious of relief as he was his misery.

Burying his face in his hands, he tried to think. Definitely no sneaking out to steal more tablets tonight. At least not until Yassen relaxed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Almost forgot! Thank you, L, for reminding me. :) Happy Monday, everyone!

It had taken a while, but eventually Yassen spotted exactly who he was looking for after strolling his way through the various regions of the ship for the better part of forty minutes. Stuck to the places where interactions could be discreet and the adults looking for a good time could come out to play without the scrutiny of their children: the bars, the clubs, the casinos. He struck gold in a small, outdoor bar on the highest deck.

The bartender popped a bright pink umbrella into a blushing brunette woman's drink with a wink before turning to serve one of the men seated at the bar. It took another few minutes of quiet observation for Yassen's patience to be rewarded: after a quick, hushed conversation with a young man wearing neon green sunglasses, an ounce-sized plastic bag was quickly exchanged for cash. To anyone not watching closely, the young man had simply tipped his bartender.

It seemed Yassen had been correct in assuming that the ship would provide for every indulgence, officially or not.

Yassen made pointed eye contact with the bartender after the third time this exchange happened and walked over, taking a seat at the bar far from the other customers. It was hardly necessary as this bar seemed only lightly trafficked in the first place. Apart from the passengers seeking him out, it was fairly deserted as there was another closer to the pool. The bartender hesitated before casually strolling over to him. His gold embroidered lapel labeled him Rodney. "What can I get you?"

"I'll take a vodka tonic," Yassen told him, clasping his hands loosely atop the counter. "But what I'm really looking for is prescription grade."

The other man hesitated, tongue darting between his lips as he prepared the drink. He took a handful of careful looks around him, though he did a decent job of concealing his caution as he dropped ice into a glass. For a civilian anyway. "I don't really do that, man. I mostly help passengers party, if you know what I mean," he said, setting the small glass in front of Yassen a second later.

Yassen took a sip and shrugged. "I'm sure you can figure something out. I'm willing to pay premium."

Rodney warmed noticeably. "Well, I can't make any promises. What is it you're looking to score?"

"Painkillers. Ideally Percocet, but I'll consider whatever you can get your hands on."

The bartender tilted his head from side to side, turning that over. "Well, I'll see what I can do. I don't remember anything like that, but I'll take another look. I can get you stuff like Ambien and Xanax for sure, though. It all depends on what people leave unclaimed."

Yassen recognized the name from his research. Wasn't that in the same family of sedatives and anti-anxiety pills as what Alex had been on in Gibraltar? "I'll take the Xanax as well," Yassen told him, leaning forward. It was a medication Alex should be on for his panic attacks anyway and would help taper his withdrawal. "What do you mean unclaimed?"

Rodney shrugged and began wiping down the counter. "Sometimes people forget their prescriptions. Company policy is to lock them in the safe for ninety days, but most people don't bother picking it up if they've already caught their plane home. We can't mail them to them for legal reasons, so they just sit in our safe until we throw them away. Check in with me tomorrow around this time. Again, no promises." With a final professional smile, Rodney stowed the rag beneath the bar top and returned to the busier end of the counter.

Taking his time, Yassen enjoyed his drink, feeling himself relax. While he'd conducted many large-scale drug deals in the past, he'd never imagined he'd one day end up in a cruise-ship bar scoring drugs for a teenager. Alex had made a good point, however. Medicine was something he genuinely needed. Yassen had nowhere near the medical training to handle this and he'd already been half convinced the stupid kid would die over a fever, of all things. The boy had already proven himself desperate enough to risk discovery to get his hands on whatever he could. It just made sense for Yassen to not only account for the problems this presented, but to ensure the little idiot didn't die of an overdose. Once they had their new identities, Yassen would address his painkiller problem in greater depth. For now, it was just a new, slightly less mundane facet of taking care of Alex.

Tucking a generous tip under his glass, Yassen returned to the room.

It was empty.

He swore aloud in Russian, nearly turning on his heel to run back into the hallway. Where had Alex gotten to now? Three seconds. The boy had waited all of three seconds before deciding to risk both of their freedoms to go hunting for more-

Shifting cloth reached his ears.

Pausing where he'd just been about to rip the ship apart and hunt the idiot down, Yassen listened for the sound again.

Muffled, but close.

He shut the door to their cabin, quietly engaging the same combat breathing technique Alex used to calm his panic attacks. Alex hadn't left the room and hadn't disobeyed Yassen's orders, so displaying undeserved anger would only agitate him. There were only so many places to hide, so without bothering to do more than take a cursory glance around the cabin, Yassen dropped to a crouch beside Alex's bed and lifted the cover. "What are you hallucinating this time?"

Alex glanced up at him, braced on his forearms as he lay on his stomach beneath the bed. His face was rigid with terror. "Be quiet! They're going to take my eyes."

Christ. Yassen was going to have to get Alex to explain the missions that all these particular traumas had come from. He wasn't particularly eager to hear them, though. At least Alex was having a problem he was capable of addressing without losing his temper. As much as a pain as his actions were to deal with, hiding and fighting back were just Alex's attempts to self-soothe. He could help with that.

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "And a centimeter of fabric will protect you?"

With a mulish expression, Alex grabbed the fabric from Yassen's hand and ripped it back down, shielding himself from sight.

Yassen tugged it back up. "Come on, get up. I'll show you how to barricade yourself in the bathroom. It's sturdier."

Alex hesitated. "Why?"

"It's useful to know." Yassen offered him a hand, relieved when Alex reluctantly gripped it and allowed Yassen to haul him out from underneath.

"So I can be a better spy." Alex's voice was bitter. "Or were you hoping I'd change my mind and go assassin?"

"Killing is for adults, Alex, and spying, however indirectly, is still part of that world." Yassen gave him a stern look as he held open the door for Alex. "It's so you can be a better former-spy on the run. Emphasis on former."

Shutting the door behind him, he shifted into lecture mode. He'd done a small amount of practical lessons for the students at Malagosto, but it had been infrequent and far between. Given his success record, Yassen was far more valuable in the field and he'd only found himself too injured to work a handful of times in the last decade. "This room has one point of entry. That's the first thing you need to determine when you're preparing to barricade yourself in."

The boy scoffed, eyes tight. "If there was another way out, there'd be no point in a barricade. I'd just leave."

Yassen shook his head. "Sometimes you need to be in a location for a short amount of time before making your exit. Sometimes you're surrounded on all sides. Come on, little thief, you should know this. What's the next thing you should pay attention to?"

Alex scowled and glanced at the door, face pale and tense. Sweat had sprung up beneath the fringe of his hair. He wrapped his arms around himself, flinching suddenly as though startled. Probably something to do with the hallucination. Yassen ignored it. "I'd look to see if it has a lock or deadbolt."

"Not a bad instinct, but that's actually number three. The second thing you should check is which direction the door opens." Yassen rapped his knuckles on the door, leaning up against the glass wall of the shower to avoid blocking the boy's view. "Is this inward or outward?"

"Outward."

Yassen nodded. "That's the ideal setup. While inward facing doors can also be barricaded, outward facing doors give you more options. This is especially important because once you bar the door, you want to create layers of defence to slow your pursuers down should they break through…."

An hour later, Alex had blocked the door four different ways and listened to Yassen explain at least a dozen more. Eventually, Yassen realized that Alex was barely listening and fell quiet, allowing the boy to tuck himself underneath the vanity and anxiously watch the door in peace. While the hallucination took quite a bit longer than it had in prison, true to Yassen's expectations, only another fifteen minutes passed before Alex relaxed enough to nod at him from where he stood leaning against the wall.

"What time is it?" he asked, as Yassen quickly dismantled their protections and shoved open the door.

"Two-thirty," Yassen told him, grabbing an unopened pack of cigarettes from the coffee table. Truthfully, he'd been craving nicotine for the last hour, but in such a confined space as the bathroom, he hadn't wanted to worry about secondhand smoke. Not that the little brat had much hope for his future respiratory health if he was going to snort painkillers.

Snorting painkillers. Yassen was still hung up on the stupidity of that one.

Alex shut off the television. "Give me my next dose. I'll take it early."

"That rather defeats the purpose of pacing yourself."

"What does it matter? I'm running out tonight anyway," Alex snapped. He paused and rubbed his temples. "The pill wore off before you got back to the room. Everything hurts again and I just want to sleep."

Yassen sighed and freed a cigarette, shoving open the sliding door to straddle the boundary so he could exhale outside while still watching Alex. "Have a shot of vodka, then."

The boy stared at him. "What?"

Struggling with his lighter, it took a second for Yassen to realize that Alex was still staring at him as though he'd grown a second head. "It's in the mini-fridge," he added, gesturing to where it was physically located. Perhaps he needed to fetch it himself. Was Alex becoming disoriented again?

The small teen's voice was flat with disbelief. "You act like popping pills is akin to drowning puppies but alcohol is fine?"

"It's just a little vodka. One shot only." Yassen shrugged and exhaled a delicate plume of smoke outside. "You're not an alcoholic."

Alex strode over the mini-fridge and grabbed the bottle, measuring out a shot under Yassen's watchful gaze. "Yeah, that's your thing," he muttered, wincing at the taste as he knocked it back.

For the sake of peace, Yassen let that one go and watched the smoke drift away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, everyone! Today's chapter is extra long. I intended to split it, but again, galimau's been too cool to shortchange. She went ahead and whipped up a really nice playlist for the series, which I think hits a lot of really good vibes for the story. I'm probably going to listen to it while I work on the rest of the series. Check it out: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/05rYx18d1f10OOxfwobbJW?si=2UIWKFdsQSCvscux-NJO9g

Yassen tapped his shoulder, ignoring Alex’s groan until he rolled over to stare up at the older man the next morning. “I’m going out. Don’t leave the room while I’m gone.”

Head throbbing, Alex focused through the haze of pain long enough to spit out, “Do you have to remind me every time?”

Yassen’s expression didn’t change much, though Alex knew he was annoyed; not only could he read his subtle lip twitches, he’d noticed Yassen’s hand settle over the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. “You tell me.”

Alex scowled and dragged the pillow over his head, muffling his snarky reply before he could bother saying it. His final lortab had worn off before midnight. The night had devolved into tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable as the pain in his head and muscle grew into unbearable levels. Sleep had been impossible for both of them and that was before Julius had shown up to shout at Alex again sometime around dawn. 

God, he never thought he’d miss his antipsychotics. At least he’d been rested.

The door opened and shut before Alex removed the fluffy barrier from his head. Rubbing his temples, he sat up and shuffled over to the bathroom, trying to at least summon the memory of what good health felt like. He’d taken it for granted when he’d had it, of course: few people bothered to wake up in the morning and think “thank god I’m not in agony constantly”. He’d love to take it for granted again. 

When he returned to the main cabin area, he paused where he was about to flop back down onto his bed. His eyes drifted to the corner of carpet he’d pulled up to hide the keycard. Yassen hadn’t found it, as far as Alex knew. He’d be a while on whatever errand he was running, Alex was certain of it, based on how much misery he’d been able to pass on to the man. Yassen had started his morning with his normal routine of stretches and exercises, but had ended it with a small shot of vodka from the nearly empty bottle in the mini-fridge. By noon, he had already smoked his way through half a pack. According to Alex’s calculations, Yassen was due for some alone time and would probably find a way to draw out whatever errand he was on for at least an hour.

If he was fast, Yassen wouldn’t even notice he was gone. 

Alex dragged himself over to his suitcase and changed clothes. After that, he quickly brushed his teeth and hair, staring at himself in the mirror the whole time and practicing looking relaxed and happy to be on holiday. His success as a thief might depend on him blending in with the other vacationers and not looking like a junkie. 

His stomach curdled at the thought. He wasn’t.

Retrieving the key card, Alex let himself out into the hallway, carefully scanning ahead to ensure he didn’t see Yassen returning. He doubted it, but couldn’t suppress the paranoia welling within him. The familiar blonde head was absent from the streams of people striding back and forth through the corridors and loudly calling to each other, but Alex wasn’t eager to take his chances. The promenade on deck four was where most of the shops were, according to the ship’s information channel, so if Alex started searching cabins on the decks above that, he decreased his odds of Yassen catching him breaking his promise.

Alex winced. He’d been trying to avoid thinking about that, given the shit-storm that surrounded… well, everything. He was miserable and detoxing and trapped in a stupid cabin room on a cruise ship he didn’t want to be on. Yassen was sort of taking care of him, but wouldn’t tell him why he was bothering and he had hit him. But Alex still trusted him to not kill him and could remember liking him, back before they’d left prison. Kind of.

It was such a bloody fucking mess. 

Alex climbed on the elevator and took it up a few floors, still trapped in his own thoughts. Things had to get simpler for him one day… right?

Deck eight seemed promising. Alex waited until the hallway was clear before listening at the closest door. While there was no live show to keep the other passengers busy at the moment, it was also the middle of the day: surely most people were out enjoying the sunshine or the rock wall or something? Hearing nothing from within, Alex swiped the card, relieved when the lock snapped open and he could push his way inside.

The cabin was empty, but Alex knew he had to move fast. Not bothering to check the purple suitcase tucked neatly into the open wardrobe, Alex shut the door to the little bathroom behind himself and began searching. Drawer after drawer was ripped open, but no rattling pill bottles greeted him. Growing sloppy, he stopped trying to conceal the fact that he had rifled through the contents, eventually just leaving them standing open. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

He wanted to slam his hands on the counter in frustration. He ached, he was in pain, and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d just have to try again. It was so hard to think, though. His thoughts kept blurring together. Fighting the sting of bitter, desperate tears behind his eyes, he stepped away from the mess and tugged open the bathroom door.

A dark-blonde woman in her mid-thirties stared back at him, one arm loosely clasped around the leather purse hanging from her shoulder. Her other arm held her room door open, caught in the act of shutting it behind her. He only had a split second before she let out a shriek. “Wat doe je?”

One glance into the bathroom would be all it took to render his “oops, this isn’t my room” line pointless. Moving quickly, Alex tried to slip past her through the door, making it into the hallway before her hand closed over his bicep in a surprisingly steel-grip. He tried to pull himself free, leery of lashing out at the poor woman. 

No luck.

“Ik vroeg je wat je aan het doen was, jochie,” she snapped.

He didn’t bother to explain himself or come up with a story, not that he spoke Dutch in the first place. There was little chance he could talk his way out of this if ship security were to be summoned: he’d been caught rifling through her possessions with a stolen key card. Not only was the evidence damning, but his passport was a fake. Escape was his only option. He tried to pull himself free again, really not wanting to strike her. He had broken into her room to steal from her after all. 

Again, he couldn’t dislodge her grip. In fact, she only grew louder, obviously looking to flag a staff member down. Despite the trickle of people passing by, no one stopped aside from the occasional raised eyebrow and disapproving sneers. Alex realized suddenly that his age had saved him again. To the casual passerby, this looked like some kind of a domestic row. 

He groaned, twisting and failing to pull free. Was she a bodybuilder or was he just malnourished? Probably the latter.

Alex twisted back towards her, meeting her eyes for the first time. Maybe he could be gentle and avoid hurting her seriously. His karate and self-defense lessons had been oriented towards disabling adults trying to hurt him using as much force as he could generate. Broken bones were a real risk, but he had to try something. A bruise or two would probably not damage her in the long run and--

A hand settled firmly on his shoulder, clamping down with enough force that he winced before he registered the familiar voice. “Het spijt me zeer. Is hij in je hut geslopen?” Yassen asked the woman.

Alex froze like a deer in headlights. 

The glass elevators looked over a handful of levels, including the promenade. Anyone looking for him could have spotted him moving upwards while traveling through those floors. Yassen had, apparently. He’d been too lost in his thoughts to notice how exposed he’d been, as well as that he hadn’t locked the door behind him. Again.

Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy.

Undiscovered Female Bodybuilding Champion’s eyes darted between them before she let out a loud exhale and let go of Alex’s arm with a snap. “Dat is juist.”

Yassen’s voice took on an embarrassed tone as he stepped forward. “Het spijt me. Ik keek alleen maar even weg. Heeft hij iets genomen?”

The woman scowled at Alex and glanced back at her open door. “Ik weet het nog niet. Ik heb hem net gevonden.”

Alex wished he could crawl under the carpet. God, this was humiliating. Face flushing as every ounce of blood pooled in his cheeks, he stared at his feet. He didn’t have to speak the language to guess how it was going.

“Hij is een drugsverslaafde,” Yassen said, wincing. “dus ik zou je pillen controleren. Ik betaal je graag voor de schade.”

“Ik heb geen pillen.” UFBC glanced at Alex, something uneasy flicking into her gaze. “Hij is vrij jong om zo'n probleem te hebben. Als ik de beveiliging van het schip bel, weet ik zeker dat hun dokter--”

“Hij is al ingeschreven voor rehabilitatie, maar gaat nog een paar dagen niet door. Bedankt dat je ze niet al hebt gebeld.” Releasing Alex, Yassen reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. 

Alex stayed rooted where he was. Running was beyond pointless, though he was semi-seriously considering finding a railing and leaping into the ocean. At least drowning would be less embarrassing.

Retrieving what looked like a thick wad of bills, Yassen pressed them into her hands. “Hij is behoorlijk overstuur geweest over de ziekte van zijn moeder en we proberen dit van zijn reputatie af te houden.”

“Nee, dat is goed, ik weet zeker dat hij het niet--” the woman shook her head and tried to hand the money back, but Yassen refused. She stared down at the bills awkwardly.

Grabbing Alex’s shoulder again and steering him towards the elevators, the Russian’s voice took on an edge of relieved gratitude as he turned back to her. “Alstublieft, ik sta erop. Je bent zo vriendelijk geweest. Duw je nogmaals voor het vinden van hem voor mij.”

The walk back to their room was conducted in the internationally recognized language of stony silence. Yassen’s grip never left Alex’s shoulder once, though Alex was tempted to point out that it was unnecessary. Where could he possibly run? The ship might be the size of a floating city, but he would run out of solid ground fast. On the other hand, communicating that fact would require making eye-contact with the man. Dread and shame warred within him, competing with his ailments for his complete attention. 

Maybe throwing himself off the balcony was still an option.

However, once he pushed open the door to their cabin, Yassen didn’t speak to him at all. Yassen’s hand released Alex’s shoulder in favor of it’s favorite object of late: the near empty bottle of vodka. Slamming the door of the mini-fridge, Yassen ignored Alex as he stepped onto the balcony before hurling the sliding door shut.

It was a pretty obvious rejection.

Alex winced and folded his arms. He knew he deserved it for both breaking his promise and especially for being sloppy enough to get caught. It still hurt. 

Furtively, he walked over to the bedside table and took four aspirin in hand. Maybe he’d get lucky and the placebo effect would help him out. Anything to dull the ever-present pain spiraling across his nerve endings, but honestly, if anything would make him feel a little less shitty and small and pathetic, he’d settle for that. 

Why couldn’t Yassen just yell at him already, or hit him, or do something other than avoid him? Alex hated being locked out like this, these glass walls that pinned him in place whenever he fucked up and prevented him from doing anything about it until the adults were done being mad. He kicked the bed, only making his foot sore. Punishment by absence was infuriating. It was bullshit. He’d rather get slapped again.

Alex clenched his fists. Fine then. Two could play that game. 

It was petty, but Alex was past caring. Locking himself in the attached bathroom took no time at all, even after putting in place the barricades Yassen had shown him yesterday. There. He stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Now they were as far away from each other as physically possible without leaving the cabin. 

His stomach growled, but he ignored it in favor of building himself a little nest on the floor with bath towels. Curling up with his knees pressed to his chest didn’t make him feel any better, but at least wiggling around on the floor to get comfortable gave him something to distract himself with. 

God, how did his life get like this? Nothing made sense anymore. Yassen was being so… something. Different than he’d been in prison. To be fair, Alex knew he was also acting differently, but most of that was probably just his brain chemistry having to completely rewrite itself. He only loosely recognized himself, but that was a secondary problem: worse was knowing that he was powerless. 

There was little he could do about anything anymore. Even without guards armed with sedatives to punish him for trying to function normally, the world still found a way. He thought leaving prison meant that he’d be able to do what he always did: poke around, solve his problems on his own schedule, and dodge the worst of the consequences by the skin of his teeth. But over the last-- what? Two months?-- he’d lost his ability to stick his landing. Had gotten sloppy. He was in no shape to save the world like this, even if he wanted to. Hell, he failed to steal drugs from an untrained civilian so he could at least steer into his mental break down as a semi-functioning human. 

Knowing he was helpless was very different than accepting it, however, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t so. But what could he do? He couldn’t even understand why--

A pounding on the bathroom door jolted him out of his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but as he sat up, he realized that his leg had fallen asleep. Wincing, he stretched it out. “What?” he called.

“Open up.”

“I don’t want to.” Alex scowled and tucked his legs beneath him, flexing the muscles to work out the pins and needles.

“Just open the door, Alex. I haven’t got all night.”

It was stupid and childish, but Alex seemed to be operating in that realm a lot lately. He didn’t know why; he had no endgame here. Whether Yassen broke down the door or not was irrelevant-- there would be no evading the man forever and Alex would have to come out eventually. Something in him burned to get get back at him for slamming the door behind him. It was a small thing, but it had ignited a desire to thwart Yassen in some way-- in any way. “No.”

Silence. 

“Don’t make me break down the door.”

“Why?”

A tired sigh. “I’m so sick of hearing that question.”

Alex felt his fists clench. He hadn’t said it directly, but Yassen made it sound like he was just an annoying three-year-old playing the never-ending ‘why’ game. But he wasn’t! Not only did he need to know, he had every right to know! “Well, I’m sick of having to ask it.”

A frustrated growl. “Stop it, Alex. Just open the damn door so I can give you your pills. That’s what it’ll take to stop acting like an idiot, correct? Your junkie fix.”

Alex spared only a split second to wonder what he was talking about. He ran out of pills yesterday. His curiosity was drowned out by fury. “I’m not a junkie!”

“You couldn’t wait twenty four hours before risking both of us. Do you miss prison that badly, little junkie?”

Alex began ripping through reinforcements. It took a few seconds, but he freed the door before his anger had time to settle. “I’m not a junkie! You don’t decide that!”

Yassen folded his arms, lips tight and eyes angry when Alex finally shoved open the door. The daylight streaming around them seemed to almost mock them, the sunshine a slap in the face. Vodka’s acrid odor wafted in the air between them. “I didn’t. The facts have decided that.”

“Why do you have to decide everything for me?” Alex snarled, shoving him. Yassen reached for him, but somehow Alex managed to evade his hold, skittering back into the space between their beds. “You decide where I go and what I do and whether or not I get dragged back to London by MI6. I don’t get to decide any of it because if you don’t like what I choose, you can just make me do what you want. I can’t make it on my own and I can’t fight you when I’m this weak, so I don’t get a real choice, do I? I don’t even get to know why you’re doing this.”

Yassen glowered at him. “You’re alive and out of prison. How is that not enough? I don’t even know where to begin with the rest of your self-pitying diatribe.”

Alex grabbed his bottle of aspirin and hucked it at him. It sailed past Yassen right shoulder and exploded in a shower of pills. “You can start by telling me why you’re doing this!” he howled.

Yassen jerked a hand in the air. “I don’t have an answer. I told you. Why do you have to know?”

“Because I’m not dead!” Alex cried. 

Yassen froze. 

Some instinct went off in Alex. Maybe it was the same instinct that had kept him alive throughout all his missions. Maybe he had finally learned to read Yassen. All he knew was that as fucking alien and raw and frightening the world felt right now, he had Yassen’s complete attention in spite of whatever else the man was feeling. Tried to swallow his anger. Half-succeeded.

As much as he hated it, he knew he couldn’t count on getting a chance like this again.

“Prison was horrid but I could deal with being there because I understood why. I don’t even believe in religion, but it was better when I thought God or the devil or whatever just fucking hated me for being a bad person. It beat always feeling like I’m on the wrong plane of reality.” Alex grabbed his pillow from his bed and threw it at Yassen, unsurprised but still aggravated when the man batted it away one-handed. “Nothing makes sense anymore!”

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Alex--”

“No! I don’t want to hear it unless you tell me why!” Alex grabbed Yassen’s pillow from his bed and lobbed it at him while he was at it. The other man caught it easily, which just made Alex angrier so he climbed on the bed, taking some weird, feral satisfaction in having the higher ground. “I don’t even care what your answer is. It can be anything you want, it just has to be fucking true. Anything. You could tell me that you’re taking care of me so you can throw me into a volcano as a virgin sacrifice to some fucked up god and that would be fine because then at least I’d know what to expect!”

Yassen opened and closed his mouth. After a minute, he let out a helpless laugh and shook his head. “I really don’t know why, Alex.”

Alex actually growled at him. Yassen looked about as startled as Alex felt. “Guess.”

Sighing again, Yassen rubbed the back of his neck. It was the most human expression Alex had ever seen on him, though the man was clearly still agitated. It calmed Alex down a tiny bit, seeing a crack of uncertainty in the man. “Perhaps I’m having a mid-life crisis?”

Alex chewed on that for a few seconds. “Okay. What do you want out of it?”

Yassen let out a frustrated breath. “I’ve told you I don’t know that.”

“Not about the whole thing,” Alex snapped back. “I believe you when you say you don’t know, but what’s something you want to happen? I know we were in prison and you couldn’t do anything there, but you didn’t break out and go buy a sports car or get a girlfriend half your age. You have other plans-- don’t look at me like that. You have  _ some _ plans even if they’re going to change. Just tell me one thing you want to make happen, so I know what to expect.”

Yassen groaned, but Alex was finally, finally getting what he wanted. If the Russian stopped talking now, he’d go insane. The assassin waved a helpless, humoring hand. “I want to buy us new identities. Permanent ones.” 

This was the first Alex was hearing of the subject of permanence. It made sense. “Oh. Why?”

Yassen shrugged and walked past Alex to fall into a chair beside the coffee table. “Because I can’t enroll you in school or any kind of legitimate treatment program without them.”

Alex smothered the urge to ask him why he wanted to do that in the first place. Yassen seemed to be allergic to the word ‘why’. Besides, Yassen had spent at least twenty percent of his time in prison relentlessly minding Alex’s health and nagging him about school. He might not have an explanation but at least it wasn’t surprising information. “So are we going to see that guy in Las Vegas that San Luca talked about? To get the permanent identities?”

Yassen nodded.

Alex’s lips twisted, thinking it over. “What else do you want to happen?”

Another shrug. “Getting you to accept that we aren’t dead was a big one. That seems to have resolved itself.”

Alex scowled. He wasn’t entirely sure how, but the pendulum had swung when he’d hallucinated his mother. Something about that had put a crack in a quickly crumbling foundation of certainty that he had to be dead. She’d come for him, but it had just been like when he’d been shot. Something about that had rooted him in place while some kind of fog rolled away. Maybe the injections were wearing off. It was painful to admit out loud, though, and he’d rather not get drawn into that discussion. “What about yourself? That’s stuff’s about me. What do you want for you?”

“To retire. I planned to after the Cray job, you know.” 

Alex felt his lips twitch in spite of himself. “You are pretty old. I guess they don’t make walkers with mounts for a Beretta. I know a guy, though.”

Shooting Alex a dry look, Yassen shifted in his chair and added, “And to return to Russia. It’s big and certainly corrupt enough. It’ll easier to bribe a school to look the other way, especially if you keep climbing into the ceiling to escape imaginary fires or scaling flag poles.”

Alex considered him. “So you want me to come with you.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but after a small hesitation, Yassen nodded. “Unless you want to go back to England. I’m not sure I’d recommend it, but it is your decision.”

“You have to know something’s a choice in order to choose it,” Alex sighed. He dropped down on the bed, sitting on the edge. “I don’t know why you don’t just tell me this stuff automatically.”

Yassen studied him quietly for a few seconds. “I’m not used to explaining myself,” he said at last,  “especially about so many things.” He stood and went to the wardrobe by the door, returning with two rattling pill bottles. He shook two different pills into his palm and held them out. “I got you more painkillers.”

Alex stared at them. He recognized the percocet immediately, feeling a warm rush of relief push away any lingering rage as he took them in hand.  “Where did you get these?”

“I found the ship’s drug dealer,” Yassen told him, face creasing. A small set of crows feet erupted beside his eyes. Alex knew that look, feeling his stomach sink. Just because he’d finished rowing didn’t mean Yassen had. “And you said you wouldn’t go breaking into cabins again.”

“You should have told me.” Alex said, swallowing the pills. He didn’t recognize the other pill, but he was fairly confident Yassen had no interest in poisoning him. “This is what I’m talking about. I expected to be in never-ending pain again. If you’d told me you were going to get more, I wouldn’t have risked breaking in.”

Yassen scoffed. “I wasn’t sure I could get them. Don’t try and tell me you would have given up based on a maybe.”

“No,” Alex snapped. “But I would have waited to see if you could handle it. I’m not stupid. I know it’s risky breaking into cabins, but it was better than nothing.”

“Getting us both caught is better than nothing,” Yassen said, voice flat.

Alex bristled, but dropped his eyes to his feet. There was some truth in the accusation. “Do you have any idea of what it’s like to live like this? Just blindly suffering and feeling trapped without knowing why or if it’s worth it or if everything is only going to get worse somehow? It’s terrible.” Nibbling on one of his nails, he shrugged and chanced a glance at the other man. “Knowing what to expect would help a lot. At least I’d know what I could do about some of this.”

Yassen shook his head, anger hunkering like storm clouds in the corners of his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Regardless of why, dealing with detox has to be better than getting caught. I’d just assumed you had poor impulse control because of your addiction, but you’re clearly capable of thinking some things through. Breaking and entering while you’re not alert enough to do it right shouldn’t even be on the table, regardless of why you are here.”

Alex barked out a laugh, but it trailed off into an almost miserable hiccup. “Really? I’m only eighty percent convinced I’m not dead and you think I can afford to assume anything’s off the table? I know I can’t always trust myself, but when it looks like you’re ignoring things like how much fucking pain I’m in, I can’t trust you either. Just tell me this stuff. Please.”

Yassen stared down at him and sighed. “Fine.”

Alex studied his face, not quite sure what to do about the undercurrent of unhappiness in Yassen’s voice. Talking about his reasons for doing things couldn’t be that unpleasant for him, could it? Well, maybe it was. Alex wasn’t even an assassin and he hated feeling like he owed others his thoughts; even showing his work on math questions irritated him. Still, Alex didn’t have a way around it. They’d drive each other insane if they weren’t on the same page.

It was asking quite a lot from Yassen, though, with nothing guaranteed in return. Especially considering the stupid amount of work the man was putting in over his maybe-a-midlife-crisis already. Besides, just because Alex had plenty of examples to draw on about why he could trust Yassen, it didn’t mean Yassen could say the same thing. If anything-- and here Alex squirmed-- he probably had more reasons not to. Alex’s fuckups could ruin everything for the both of them, yet Yassen hadn’t left. Not yet, at least. Whatever his reasons for sticking around, they seemed to outweigh sleep, sanity, and self-preservation. 

Maybe their weird power imbalance went both ways.

“If you at least try to tell me what’s going on, I’ll stop stealing from other cabins,” Alex offered.

Yassen glanced away, face stiff. “You made that promise less than twenty four hours ago.”

Alex flinched. Yeah, Yassen definitely didn’t trust him. That was probably fair. Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the staff key card, handing it to Yassen before he could change his mind. “I know. I’m sorry about that. I do mean it, though.”

Yassen stared at the keycard for a long minute, expression completely blank.

Sweat broke out across Alex’s forehead. He certainly hadn’t wanted to hand over the only thing he had in his favor since Yassen made him smash his iPod, but he couldn’t think of any other way to prove to Yassen that he was serious. It was still a risk. Fat lot of good this gesture would do him if Yassen chose to not believe him anyway. 

Standing abruptly, Yassen strode onto the balcony and tossed the keycard into the sea. 

Alex’s heart sank.

Yassen turned to him, jaw tight. “Sorry I slapped you,” he said, after a sharp, drawn out silence had elapsed.

Alex blinked, relief washing through him. Not only had Yassen accepted his deal, he’d actually apologized. He couldn’t recall any other time that had happened, not once. Alex almost laughed at the little hints of surliness he saw in the other man’s face. As a British native, Alex apologized at least twenty times a day, occasionally for merely existing in the vicinity of an inconvenience. Yassen, though….

“Okay,” Alex said, flopping backwards onto the bed. The painkillers must be kicking in because he felt better than he had in days, if a little tired. He twisted to look at Yassen. “I’m hungry. Can we order room service?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! :) Don't forget to check out galimau's awesome playlist for this series. playlist/05rYx18d1f10OOxfwobbJW?si=vFjm2Oz4RqCrz4A6aqN1ZA

Yassen nodded and pointed to the phone mounted on the wall beside the TV, quailing internally. He was used to the ups and downs of combat and project management, not this roller coaster of emotions he had unknowingly strapped himself into. His first instinct was to suppress everything and remove himself from whatever situation was inspiring such reactions: his survival in both the field and the organization he represented had long depended on it. As inclined as he was to continue doing so, he realized his slide back into the world of reactiveness had happened for a reason: Alex. While displaying zero emotion worked well for unnerving rivals and clients alike, it was not conducive to ensuring Alex be upfront with him during a panic attack. Assassin and child-sitter seemed so diametrically opposed, yet somehow he'd allowed himself to be thrust into a situation that now required he be both.

What a mess.

Regardless, if Alex wanted to eat, than Yassen would jump at the opportunity while he could. The poptarts he'd purchased yesterday lay on the bedside table, shiny foil packaging untouched. "There's a menu beside it. Order whatever you like."

Alex pushed up off his bed and went over to it, flicking through it with varying degrees of interest. He quickly flipped the pages toward the end before brightening. Biting his lip, he looked back up at Yassen. "Anything?"

Yassen smothered a sigh. As a connoisseur of room service and dine-in options, he knew damn well that desserts were usually listed towards the end. "Are you allergic to nutrients or-?" he demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nevermind. Just order something with fruit in it. At least you won't die of scurvy."

Alex snorted. "Okay, fine. I'll get chocolate cake and a fruit smoothie. I wouldn't hold out much hope, though. They only have one flavor and it's Tropical Blue Razzmatazz." He set down the menu and reached for the phone. "Freshly picked razzmatazzes, I'm sure. I bet you twenty pounds the least artificial ingredient will be ice."

Yassen sighed aloud this time. Calories, he reminded himself. At least he was getting calories.

The ringing of the phone cut the near-amiable silence.

Alex looked at him, hand still reaching for the phone. "Expecting a call?"

Yassen shook his head, eyes narrowing. What could the ship's crew possibly want? Someone may have noticed that the cabin's occupants rarely left their room. This might be a welfare check of sorts, especially if the manifest listed a child. He doubted the Dutch woman had reported them- he'd been careful to layer in gratitude with guilt before he'd foisted the money on her. Accepting money inspired a sense of complicity, so she likely would have felt a weird kind of guilt every time she considered the idea. Something else was off, though. It took him a few seconds of quiet focus to hone in on what had changed.

The blue horizon wasn't moving. The ship had slowed to a stop.

Alex shrugged and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

Yassen couldn't hear the response, but judging from the way Alex's fingers clenched around the handle, it wasn't good. Alex made sharp eye contact with Yassen, expression shuttering as he moved the phone so they could both hear.

The voice on the phone continued despite Alex's silence. "-myself. My name is Dr. Three. I'm afraid you and I haven't had the chance to meet before, but I've heard many great things from your former instructors. For someone who studied at Malagosto for only a few days, you made quite the impression! Unfortunately, this call is more business than pleasure but perhaps we'll have the chance to chat more later. Please hand the phone to Yassen, Alex."

Damn.

He'd hoped to have more time, but he couldn't say he was surprised. Still. Of all the board members to draw the attention of, Dr. Three was possibly the worst. Whatever his hopes had been that his defection would remain a mid-level issue evaporated. Real resources were being leveraged to recover him and he couldn't count on the luxury of the occasional lone assassin.

Yassen took the phone and covered the receiver with his hand. "Get our passports and documents. Leave the rest," he ordered Alex. The boy glared at him and didn't budge, so Yassen added, "If they're calling, they're already here."

That got him moving. Yassen could hear him bump into furniture as he sorted through their luggage.

"Dr. Three," Yassen said, after removing his hand. The phone had a long, spiral cord. Yassen pulled it to it's limit peering through the peephole into the hallway. No one yet, apart from a pair of running ten year olds shrieking with laughter. He locked and bolted the door anyway. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"I simply wished to ensure you had a chance to hear our offer. Given the lack of contact, I assume our initial representative was less than persuasive."

The door to the cabin opened inwards. That was going to be a pain to reinforce, especially against a trained strike team. Yassen began barricading it anyway. Fortunately for them, the wardrobe door lined up almost perfectly with the cabin door. Yassen yanked it open and wedged it against the door knob. After a second, Alex saw where he was going with his strategy and scooted over to him to help. "You would be correct."

"Pity. He was one of Yermalov's favorites. Well, there's no use crying over spilled milk. I simply thought I would make myself available to answer any questions you might have about our offer. I assure you, despite how counter-intuitive it may appear on the surface, it's quite genuine. To be clear, should you accept, there will be no consequences for your recent choices."

Yassen felt his lips thin. "That's very generous of you. As you said, it's very counterintuitive of you to offer. I've already betrayed you once in the last few weeks. Do you have any particular reason to trust my acceptance now?"

Dr. Three chuckled. "Not at all, not at all. To be perfectly honest with you, Yassen, we're going to require collateral whether you come along willingly or not. The willing option would go a lot better for you… and especially young Alex."

Yassen ruthlessly squelched the rage licking at him and double checked Alex's work. So Scorpia intended to hold Alex a hostage to ensure his compliance regardless of whether Yassen decided to cooperate. Interesting. At least some of the operative's claims had been true.

"What seems to be our sticking point-" here Yassen had to stare at the ceiling, to avoid the stupid boy's eyes. He wasn't acknowledging that the boy was right or that he'd had a point earlier. He wasn't. "-is the reason why. As you yourself admit, this is certainly unusual. Why am I so deserving of your generous offer?"

Alex raised an eyebrow, lips twisted in an I-told-you-so expression, as he stepped back from the door. Yassen scowled, but didn't say anything out loud.

"You've been out of the loop for a while, but I'm sure you know by now that our organization has faced certain difficulties in recent times. You're a highly skilled operative. We simply can't afford to lose you." Dr. Three cleared his throat. "Come now, Yassen. You know that you can't outrun us forever. Negotiate. There is a way to meet all of our needs here. Scopia's. Yours. Alex's."

Yassen snorted and hung up, not bothering to call out the obvious lie. Dr. Three was far, far better at withholding and extracting information than Yassen, so to even attempt to get more over the phone was pointless. Yassen's best move was to avoid playing entirely, especially since he already knew about the demand for his blood. While Yassen was certain that there would be many disappointed organizations once more testing revealed that his blood only contained a resistance to anthrax, Scorpia could probably profit enormously from turning him into a living blood factory in the meantime. They'd recoup their losses in trying to rescue him and remove the threat of his information getting out in one move.

Double checking the barricade, he glanced at Alex. "First rule of not getting killed in this world is to realize you are not so special or skilled that your employer can't replace you."

Alex scoffed. "Yeah, that's why MI6 risked constant public exposure to keep me."

Yassen tilted his head, moving to the bedside table and removing the gun he'd taken off the would-be-assassin. Checking the clip, he tucked it into his belt. "Fair enough. Once you're an adult, however, I'd suggest you assume otherwise."

A booming knock on the door. "Mr. Caderton. U.S. Coast Guard. We have a warrant. Open up."

Alex turned to Yassen, tense and questioning. Yassen ignored the look and strode over to the balcony. The empty horizon only made him feel more exposed, but he forced himself to ignore the feeling. He supposed there was a chance Scorpia had a sniper positioned somewhere in the distance- it was a job he himself had performed before- but he doubted it. With the bounce of waves such a shot was tricky, thus the ship containing the sniper would have to be close, disguised as something innocuous rather than invisible. There were no other ships in the distance and the offer strongly suggested that Scorpia wanted Yassen alive. The dark swirling ocean lapped against the sides of the gleaming ship. Yassen let his eyes drift across the sides, waiting for something to trip his instincts.

There. A flash of white and red stuck out, bobbing out of tune with the rest of the ship, half hidden under the bright yellow lifeboats ringing the sides of the lower decks.

"If you don't surrender willingly, we're going to have to break the door down." Another loud slam on the door, this time with breaking intent. Something splintered.

Alex came up next to him. "Can we fight our way out?"

"No. Their lone man failed, so they've likely sent far more to subdue us." Yassen hissed through his teeth and yanked Alex to where he was standing, pointing at the small U.S. Coast Guard vessel that had pulled up against the side of the cruise ship. "They brought a long range interceptor- it holds up to fourteen men with equipment. Even if I bottleneck them at the door, I don't have enough bullets to finish the job."

"Fuck." Alex glanced back at the door. It wouldn't hold much longer. "What do we do?"

"We take their ship." Yassen studied the angle of the balcony. "They've boarded on deck two. That's where we can get on."

Alex nodded and climbed up on the railing, clearly guessing Yassen's thoughts. There was only one way out of the room, after all. "Okay. What balcony should we enter through?"

Yassen pointed to an empty balcony, one room to the right and on the deck below theirs. If they could enter on deck three, they would only have to descend another deck. Then, they could focus on finding the makeshift boarding area. "Can you make it there?"

Alex hesitated for a split second before nodding. "I've done it before. It's not like we have other options if I can't."

The other man nodded, hand on his firearm. He had only two rounds. It would have to be enough. "You go first. I'll cover you."

O

Alex nodded and flung himself at the balcony besides theirs. Fortunately, he'd been able to practice for this particular test. Stomach ramming into the railing as it had the last time, Alex let out a short grunt. This time, he'd been prepared for the impact and had braced properly. His fingers clenched into the cold, slightly damp metal.

Now to drop to the balcony below.

He took a deep breath. Each balcony almost perfectly spaced from the others, meaning that he had no way to see the one below until he was over the edge. Instead of a straight drop, he'd have to angle his legs and swing onto the balcony. Of course, that was assuming he cleared the railing. Or got a good grip. Or didn't fall directly into the sea.

Alex didn't chance a glance back at Yassen, knowing he had little time to waste. Stabilizing himself quickly, he slid down the length of the railing until he was able to transfer his grip to the floor, legs dangling in the open air.

Looking down, he barely saw the edge of the railing below him. Suddenly it didn't seem so easy a jump to make. The crashing waves against the side seemed to grow louder, the dark sea swallowing up his vision. His arms began to shake, muscles being forced into their first real workout in weeks. With a sharp swing, he threw his legs forward and dropped onto the balcony below, slamming his back against the railing and swearing, but otherwise in one piece.

Relieved, he rolled to his feet and scooted out of the way, coming face to face with a girl not much older than him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, gaping at him. She didn't sound angry or frightened at the sudden intrusion. In fact, her lips curved uncertainly upwards, waiting to be let in on the joke.

Alex froze. There was no time to figure out what to tell her. What could he possibly say? On his own he might be a prankster, but with two strangers suddenly appearing in her room, this situation was about to get a lot more frightening for her.

Yassen dropped onto the balcony beside him, albeit with a lot more grace. To be fair, his legs were longer and had managed to stay in shape, while the last thing Alex could remotely construe as exercise had involved pilfering percocet.

Seeing Yassen, the girl backed against the TV, opening her mouth.

Alex held up a placating hand, voice low. "Sorry, we'll just be a second. We're not-"

Yassen grabbed him by his shirt collar and towed him towards the cabin door, ignoring the girl's shriek as they pushed past. Alex smothered the impulse to shake him off. The man's message was clear: silence was not their priority now. He was hardly an expert in barricades, but Alex couldn't imagine it would take Scorpia's men very long to break through. Once they found an empty cabin, it would be pretty obvious where they had gone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the lateness, but still technically Monday! Also, I apologize if I've been abnormally slow on responses this week (you're all shocked, I know). My personal life decided to devolve into chaos again, but it should be leveling off. Enjoy!

 

The hallway was packed full of passengers huddled in groups and speaking in low voices. Alex tried to relax his stance to match Yassen's, who was busy seamlessly blending hurry with casual intensity. He could have been late to a dinner engagement for all the distress he showed, yet still managed to cover a ridiculous amount of ground, forcing Alex to half jog in order to keep up.

Alex scowled. It wasn't his fault he was still so short.

"No, they just showed up fifteen minutes ago," a middle age man assured his captive audience. He nodded, peering out at where the small cabin hallway opened up into the main promenade."Started talking about an arrest and warrants."

A white-uniformed staff member appeared and gestured people to move along, clearing the hallway enough that Alex and Yassen managed to slip past without too much difficulty. "We apologize for the inconvenience, but decks three, four, and five are closed until further notice. Please move to an open deck or return to your rooms. We'll be passing out vouchers for our premium facilities shortly. Please wait for the all clear before attempting to access those decks, thank you."

Alex hesitated, spotting a cluster of ship's security personnel near the carpeted stairwell where Yassen was clearly headed. Shouldn't they should find another way through to the lower deck? All it would take was one of the security team recognizing one of them and call for backup….

Yassen didn't break his stride, shifting his grip from Alex's shirt to his forearm.

One of the security men shook his head and tried to block the way. "Decks three, four, and-"

"The infirmary is on deck two," Yassen snapped, every inch the annoyed vacationer as he slowed. "Unless you plan to shut down the entire ship?"

The man withdrew and gestured to the stairwell leading down. "Of course not, sir. Our apologies for-"

Alex grimaced as Yassen immediately picked up the pace. Adrenaline notwithstanding, he was quickly feeling the physical effects of spending the last week and a half confined to a single room.

"Slow down. It's a good thing they didn't recognize either of us," Alex muttered, just as they passed a group of three more crew members.

Despite their pristine white uniforms, they seemed harried, dispensing pleasant smiles and voucher slips to passengers as they scurried around the second deck. It was mostly full of sitting areas, lounges, and directories, given that it was the first area the passengers saw upon boarding. People milled about, clutching various drinks or souvenirs and whispering every time a harried looking staff member jogged past.

Yassen shook his head, keeping his voice low as he scanned the larger crowds. "Scorpia won't want us recognized, even by the ship's staff. If the extraction team fails, they'd rather have to hunt us down a second time than risk the authorities capturing us and whisking us off to another secret prison."

Alex wasn't terribly familiar with the layout of the ship, having gleaned most of his knowledge from the infomercial-style clips that seemed to play on repeat on the ship's channel. Yassen seemed to have a decent idea of where they were going and forcefully shoved open a Crew Only door. The difference in aesthetic was jarring: gone was bright carpets, spun glass, and inviting chairs. In its place was the cold reality of efficiency; undecorated white metal glaring at them between the exposed pipework as though the mere idea of cheer was costing it money. Yassen ignored the calls of passing crewmen, picking his path through the winding hallways.

LOADING DOCK appeared, stenciled on the wall with an arrow that directed into a closed area. Yassen slowed as they reached the next set of double, swinging doors and turned to Alex. "Wait here for me."

Alex stared at him. "We don't have time for that. That extraction team will be here any minute now."

"It'd be different if you had a gun." After double checking his clip, Yassen gave him a considering look and sighed. Alex knew he'd guessed right. "Very well. Follow at a distance, take cover every few feet, and let me clear the way."

Alex folded his arms but didn't argue. As much as he hated being treated like he was incapable, it wasn't as though he particularly wanted to go rushing into an unknown room to get shot at. Even if he were armed and free of the exhaustion creeping around the edges of his consciousness, he still wasn't sure he could just point and shoot at whoever came their way. Knowing that these were Scorpia goons who'd come to kill them wasn't enough. Wasn't thrilled with Yassen doing it either, but Alex could hardly afford to be picky about staying alive. Resigned to it, really.

Yassen stepped forward, then shot a quick glance back at him. "And cover your ears."

"What? Why?" Alex raised an eyebrow. Did the man intend to shout Scorpia secrets at the top of his lungs?

Yassen gestured with the handgun, mouth pressed in a thin line. "It can damage your hearing."

"Really?" Alex demanded, jerking a hand at the loading dock sign. Of course Yassen would find the time to nag him about his health. Of course. "That's what's important? Right now?"

The assassin had already pushed his way through the door. As they swung shut behind him, Alex got a quick image of two men in dark blue uniforms and bullet proof jackets turning to face Yassen.

Gunfire echoed in the tight hallway beyond.

Alex pressed against the wall, inching closer until he reached the smooth metal doors. He waited a heartbeat before pushing through.

Immediately before him, two corpses lay sprawled on the floor of the loading bay, gun holsters empty. Alex avoided looking too closely at the small blood spatters surrounding their heads. Taking in a steady breath, he stepped past them and tried to get a quick fix of the layout of the room. Storage seemed to be the primary use for the bay, given that the ship was mid-voyage: crates with labels he couldn't begin to decipher were stacked in neat piles against the walls, strapped in place to protect them from rough seas. Pallets and rope were heaped in rough piles, but otherwise the auditorium sized room was wide open. Harsh artificial light weakly illuminated the room, making the small rectangle of natural daylight somehow harsher where more faux Coast Guard men were shouting and firing.

Sharp pain in his eardrums erupted a split second after he entered. With a scowl, Alex hunched down behind the nearest crate, begrudgingly pressing his hands against his ears.

Ash had once told him that Yassen was a crack shot, that he'd never seen anyone so relaxed in the heat of battle. That as MI6 agents swarmed Malta, he'd stood as though he owned the place, like no one could touch him. At the time, Alex had accepted it at not-quite face value. Ash was already a few drinks in when he'd told him that story; Alex suspected that, like most memories, the ghosts that haunt us tend to get more chilling with every passing year.

He understood now. Yassen was like a force of nature.

Three new men lay prone on the ground, dispatched by the contract killer before Alex could get a good look at them. Barked orders flew back and forth, punctuated by short bursts of gunfire. Yassen didn't pause, just calmly strode forward firing off shot after shot with almost mechanical precision. He didn't seem concerned with finding cover, just charged forward before any of the opposing men could get him in their sights.

Dropping his handgun, Yassen swiftly replaced it with one clearly pilfered from the men guarding the door. Another faux-coast guard poked his head up from behind the metal forklift he used for cover, aiming for the Russian's chest. It would have been a great shot, given that he was off to the side of the man and only ten feet away. Even a novice could have made it. Yassen didn't even turn his head, just flicked his gun in the man's direction. Almost as if by magic, a bullet hole erupted between the Scorpia man's eyes. His body slumped backwards with a dull thud, quickly drowned out by the fire of his living comrades.

Alex pulled in a sharp breath. Maybe twenty seconds had elapsed since Yassen had gone ahead and already six men had been downed. By one man.

Nearly overwhelmed, their attackers evidently decided it was time for a final strike. Two more men left their cover to halt the assassin's advance. Unlike the others Yassen had faced so far, their body armor covered their throats and they wore dark combat helmets that strapped beneath their chins.

A prickle of worry erupted in Alex's chest. Someone had accounted for Yassen's skill at neck and head shots.

He needn't have worried. Yassen shot the first one with a clean shot to the face, while the other tried to use the distraction to get closer. Raised his gun as he closed the gap between them, preparing a clear shot to the side of Yassen's head. He got lucky.

Pivoting to shoot his attacker, Yassen's gun clicked once- jammed.

Alex's heart stopped. He threw himself forward, abandoning his cover. He wasn't armed, but he had to do something. Anything. Cause a distraction perhaps?

Yassen surged forward, still holding the jammed gun. He ducked beneath the man's arm, grabbing his wrist to force the handgun up and away from him as he rammed the man in the face with his own useless weapon. His attacker crumpled. Prying the semi-conscious soldier's gun from his hand, the Russian assassin finished him off with a neat shot to the head and stepped over the corpse.

As Yassen made it to the harsh square of daylight Alex belatedly realized was a hatch door to the exterior of the ship, he shook himself out of his daze. It couldn't be long before the men sent to extract them either guessed their plan or returned to regroup. Alex padded silently through the bloodbath, doing his best to let his eyes skim over the worst of the damage. Passing one of the fallen, he considered grabbing the gun strapped into the man's belt holster. Being armed would be a relief, regardless of whether or not he actually had to use it.

The idea of touching a dead man- skin growing colder with each passing second, unnaturally still, eyes wide and empty- made his skin crawl. It wasn't quite a memory, but Alex felt the bile and panic rise anyway. He swallowed it down and sucked in measured bursts of air.

One, two, three, four….

Alex balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his face, fighting the impulse to smash them into his eye sockets. He hated this panic, hated it more than the memories that triggered it. Remembering had always been bad enough, but at least he'd been useful before. Not paralyzed. Maybe it all came from the injections and maybe it came from himself. Either way, he didn't want to have to do this anymore. This stupid panic made him helpless and he was done with that.

Move, he ordered himself even as his lungs fought his demands that they inflate properly. Do something. Anything.

There was no one left in the storage area. Yassen had disappeared outside the hatch, going god knows where to kill god knew who. How many minutes did they have until someone burst in through the doors they'd entered by? If they couldn't get the fake Coast Guard boat ready to go in time, they'd be trapped. Alex certainly wasn't up for swimming the rest of the way to Miami.

Alex glanced around, but didn't see any other doors into the heart of the ship. Just the swinging doors led into this area. How the hell could he barricade those? The swung freely both ways and he hadn't seen any kind of locking or bracing mechanism.

His eyes landed on the forklift, spotting the keys dangling from the ignition and smiled.

Less than a minute later, the forklift had been carefully wedged in the doorway Alex and Yassen had entered a mere minute and a half before. His breathing refused to level out, but Alex had dealt with worse. Triumph flared in him, flooding him with new energy. Gripping the keys tightly in his hand, he jogged to the open hatch leading out to sea. Paused. Looked back at the barricade.

"Hope no one needs a lift," he muttered between gasps.

O

Emerging from the hatch, Yassen spotted the final Scorpia agent take cover behind the interceptor's controls a split second before Yassen could get off a shot. He grimaced, glancing down at the rope mooring the LRI-1 to the cruise ship and the short ladder offering access. Skipping both, he leapt onto the ship, easing into the roll of the small vessel as he darted forward. The agent had standard body armor, clearly having been left behind to captain the vessel in preparation for a speedy getaway. Yassen shot him in the throat without fanfare, then followed it up with a shot to the head to finish the job.

Tipping the body overboard took another few seconds. Normally, he wouldn't bother, but Alex had a strained relationship with death. There was no telling how he'd react. Yassen was already hoping his ordered delay had prevented him from seeing most of the gunfight; as if the boy needed more flashback fodder. A few seconds invested in cleaning up after himself was worth skipping a panic attack.

The boy himself poked his head out of the hatch, flinching as his eyes met direct sunlight.

Yassen gestured him forward, already working to release the ropes. "Jump on," he called. "We need to move."

After a brief hesitation, Alex launched himself from the opening. He took his landing far worse than Yassen expected, given the relatively short fall. He winced, staggering back onto his feet before hunching over. It took a split second before Yassen realized he was breathing in sharply to the count of four. "Barricaded the door," he panted. "Bought us time."

There was no time to ask for details. Yassen suppressed the urge to scold Alex- the boy was in no condition to be remotely near combat and his active involvement gave Yassen yet another factor to worry about in the heat of battle. He left his objections unvoiced. Despite his obvious panic attack, Alex just seemed so pleased with himself. At least the boy hadn't wasted any extra time. "Good."

Tossing the rope aside, Yassen grabbed Alex by the arm and dragged him into the cabin, out of the line of sight. Sheltered by the console, Alex hunched on the bench Yassen deposited him on and maintained his combat breathing, nodding harshly as Yassen handed him a handgun. Yassen turned his attention to the controls which were fortunately similar to a model he'd trained on a few years back. The engine was still running, so he angled the nose of the craft and opened the throttle, putting as much water between them and the ship as possible in the shortest amount of time.

It was unlikely that the team had brought a second vessel, but it wasn't impossible. Once they were out of range of fire, their main concern would be evading the actual United States Coast Guard.

By the time Yassen was satisfied with their speed, he glanced over to find Alex staring at him. "You alright?" he asked, called over the wind.

Alex glanced at the horizon, gun clasped loosely in his hands, overgrown hair flapping away from his face. Distant shapes appeared in the distance, signalling their approach to the shoreline of Florida. "Better."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, everyone!

Alex flopped down face first onto the bed the very instant Yassen pushed open the door to their Miami motel room. Rusty creaking greeted him back the second he made impact. As exhausted as he was, he couldn't resist rolling into a sitting position and bouncing up and down in place, watching Yassen wince with each screech of the box spring. Superhuman hearing had its drawbacks.

"Stop that," the older man snapped, striding over to the dented wooden coffee table and opening up the map he'd grabbed from a gas station they'd stopped at before checking in. It had been a long day for the both of them. If there was a square inch of Miami that Alex hadn't seen on his previous trip with the CIA, he fucking doubted it existed now. Between ditching the boat at a small marina and the long series of Miami buses they'd switched between before finally Yassen caved and stole a car, there hadn't been time for more than a single cigarette. Despite neglecting his own vices, he'd been careful to offer Alex small but steady doses of painkillers and Xanax.

It wouldn't kill him to play nice.

After one final, drawn out screech, Alex stood and walked to the window. A bright blue pool surrounded by faded and yellowed lawn chairs beamed up at him from the motel courtyard, lined with little directional lights that reminded Alex of the ones Brookland used to illuminate the stage for plays and other performances. Tom had nearly broken one once after he'd been chasing James around for saying that-

-Tom's arm popped snapped crunched, twisted at an odd angle-

Alex slammed the curtain shut, trying to end the thought just as savagely. It half worked. His fingertips twitched with the memory.

Yassen gave him a sharp glance. "Leave that open."

"Why?" Alex scowled. It had led to only a small hallucination, but he didn't want any more reminders of the friends he'd never see again. Of the teachers. His school. Maybe he wasn't dead, but his life in London sure was. As for his new one, which might be in Russia of all fucking places, he'd have to wait and see. While he hadn't spared much thought for it, he couldn't say he was optimistic.

"I want it that way." Yassen didn't glance up from the map, just sat there studying it, perched on the very edge of the threadbare plaid couch. He flipped it over and studied the opposite side, which Alex identified as an upside down map of the states.

Alex reluctantly drew it open, stopping halfway out of pettiness and leaving the room in partial shadow. He was half tempted to take the bed closest to the window, but he already had identified that as one of Yassen's weird quirks. That and avoiding lifts. Thanks to him, Alex was coming to dread buildings with more than two floors. Stairs, stairs, and more stairs. He sighed and dropped down on the couch next to the bizarre man looking after him, grabbing the remote for the boxy television and turning on the news.

"-report that several bodies were removed from the Dalliance of the Seas. So far, the Coast Guard denies that their men were involved in the initial attack, but admit that two of their members discharged their weapons upon boarding the ship in response to reports of gunfire. Passengers report several men shooting into the crowd during the ensuing chaos, resulting in six wounded passengers being rushed to a nearby hospital." The brunette reporter pressed her fingertips to her earpiece, pausing shortly before nodding. Terror on the Seas was emblazoned on the screen beside her. "We've just gotten reports that several of the imposters were able to steal one of the responding vessels and escape while officers searched the ship. They remain at large. Local authorities are urging anyone with information to come forward."

The screen zoomed out, graphics switching abruptly.

Alex clenched his fists. "Yassen…"

"I see it." Yassen's mouth was set in a grim line.

Blurry yet recognizable, Yassen and Alex's customs photos stood side by side.

Taken in Lagos while Alex had been dodging phantom crocodiles, Alex's own face stared back at him, anxious and a little drawn in the harsh artificial flash of the weak digital camera. Yassen's photo fared a touch better; he seemed bored and stared slightly away, as though merely impatient to be getting on with his day. While the quality was fairly pixelated, the broad strokes of their features were clear.

"Also reported missing are two passengers on the ship. While we cannot release the names of minors, we can confirm that Jonathan Caderton, pictured on the right, seemed to be the initial target of the attack. Several sources on the ship confirm that the imposters, posing as members of the United States Coast Guard, claimed to have a warrant for Caderton's arrest but were unable to breach Caderton's cabin. The exact details of are as of yet unknown, but authorities have confirmed that both Caderton and the teenage boy, who travel documents list as his stepson and is pictured on the right, are currently being sought for questioning in connection with the attacks. As is often the case with missing children, authorities urge anyone who may have seen either of these two to contact-"

Alex lowered the volume a few notches, feeling nervous energy flood through him. Abandoning all thoughts of sleeping, he glanced at the map in front of them. "I take it we need to get out of Miami and head for Vegas?"

Yassen nodded, scrubbing his face with his hand. The dark circles under his eyes had made a comeback in the last few hours. "Sooner rather than later. We're going to have to change our appearances first. There's going to be a manhunt."

"Really?" Alex groaned and fell back against the couch. He couldn't help the slight tinge of a whine in his voice. "Why? No real coast guards died."

"But an obviously organized terrorist group tried to impersonate their officers within U.S. waters," Yassen pointed out. "Passengers were injured and now there's a missing American child, at least according to your passport. If the authorities haven't identified them as fakes, they will soon enough."

Alex winced, sitting bolt upright. He was an idiot. "Yassen?"

"Hm?"

"We've got another problem. I just realized."

"What is it?" Yassen stifled a yawn. "A hallucination?"

"No." Alex folded his arms and glanced back at the TV. "The CIA has probably already identified me by my picture. MI6 kind of loaned me out to them for a mission. Here. In Miami."

Yassen stared at him, suddenly much more alert. "Specifically here?" he demanded.

"Well, yes," Alex said, trying not to quail under the stare. He was so stupid. How could he have not thought to mention it? Yassen hadn't told him specifically where in Florida the cruise ship would dock, but now it seemed obvious. "I mean, the mission started here. I met up with the two CIA agents and pretended to be their kid so they could sneak into Cayo Esqueleto to investigate General Alexei Sarov, so the rest of the mission was actually in Cuba. Actually, the mission technically ended in Murmansk, but that was after the agents died and Sarov kidnapped me. Anyway, I was only in Miami for a few days, just long enough to practice my American accent and meet Joe Byrne. Someone might still recognize me, though."

After a long silence that seemed to stretch across Alex's nerve endings like a scalpel, Yassen dropped his face into his hands, pressing his palms into his eye sockets as though he could scrub away the ramifications. "We need to discuss some things," he said eventually.

Alex grimaced. "Now?"

"On the road." Yassen eyed him askance. "Now that you're reliably lucid."

"But first we should get some sleep?" he suggested hopefully. He'd known that eventually Yassen was going to need a run down on all of his missions, if only to glean whatever information he could about Alex's trip to Venice over that 'find his destiny' bullshit. Not that he was looking forward to it: it would require discussing some events Alex would rather forget. Since leaving prison and it's prohibitively extensive surveillance, it wasn't that Alex had actively avoided the topic of his past missions per se, he'd just been too ill or too out of it to give a damn. He barely had the energy now.

Yassen sighed and shook his head, standing. "Take a nap while I go out. We're going to need a few things."

"You said there'd be a manhunt. They're probably watching the roads." Alex pointed out, staring up at Yassen from underneath his overgrown bangs. While he still suspected Yassen of being half-robot from time to time, he knew from recent experience that the man needed sleep to function just like everybody else. A flicker of guilt erupted in his chest. "We should wait for it to blow over. There's probably roadblocks or something."

Yassen shrugged. "It's more likely we'll be identified once the police start canvassing hotels for recent check-ins matching either our descriptions. This city doesn't have as many surveillance cameras as London, but we passed at least four in this neighborhood alone. The odds are too high to risk staying even a night."

Alex sighed. "Are you sure you don't need sleep? I know I kept you up all last night. Unless you've been sleepwalking this whole time, it's been almost two days for the both of us."

Yassen hesitated as he tugged open the door to their room, glancing back at Alex. "I've gone longer in far worse situations than this. It's nothing I can't handle. Get a few hours before I return."

Alex listened to the door click shut behind him. Flopping back onto the bed for the second time that night, he listened to the springs screech and shut his eyes. Flickering on the edge of his consciousness, the crusher rumbled to life. Grindstones whirring, it drew itself ever closer.

O

Yassen glanced at his watch as he strolled carefully into a nearby shopping district, careful to keep his pace measured as a patrol car sped past. The car he'd stolen earlier in the day had been abandoned in a parking garage, carefully wiped down to avoid leaving evidence. The evening wore on around him, regular businesses within an hour or so of drawing closed while nightlife seized the city with the sinking of the sun. Clothing shops lined either side of the street, competing with each other to see who could have the most minimalist sign and least descriptive name. The Edge, High Styles, En Boga. He avoided the smaller boutiques, following the signs to a local mall. National chains had ubiquitous brands, decreasing the odds that his possessions could be identified or sourced should they be seized. He'd already been forced to abandon most of what he'd purchased in Cordoba, though he doubted any of it would be tied to him directly.

Things had gotten a lot more complicated. It was his own damn fault.

He'd expected MI6 to get wind of their voyage once he'd realized he'd have to fight his way off the ship. It was far too much of a spectacle to leave uninvestigated and the two intelligence agencies had an annoying habit of sharing information. Even if the extraction team hadn't attacked their cabin specifically, the entire passenger manifest would have been poured over and the two of them identified. Combined that with the sudden information that Alex was not only known by the CIA, but had been employed by them in this city specifically, there was no way they could avoid detection for more than forty eight hours. None.

He should have demanded answers from Alex as soon as he'd woken on their first night on the run. Stupidly, Yassen had assumed that they'd have plenty of time. When Alex had woken disoriented and ill, he told himself it was fine to wait. That it was better the boy be coherent and hopefully more mindful of the details. That it was better for them both to rest, at least for a day or two. Alex's withdrawal had slammed into them both with the force a derailed train and again, Yassen had shoved the task aside. Between the hallucinations, panic attacks, alarming fever, general illness, and the sudden, shocking nature of Alex's drug problem, it had seemed like the least pressing issue.

Yassen had lots of other excuses as to why he hadn't questioned the boy. Some were arguably good, such as his concern that forcing the boy to talk about his missions would somehow worsen his hallucinations. Most were not, like the fact that Yassen had avoided getting the necessary information because he hadn't wanted to upset the delicate balance between them that he suspected heavily relied on silence. Hadn't wanted to make him unhappy.

Sentimentality would get them both caught.

Had Yassen been brain damaged at some point and simply blotted out the memory? He snorted in disgust. With the way he'd been acting over the last two months, he sometimes wondered.

Ripping clothes off of racks with almost reckless speed, Yassen managed to complete the majority of his shopping in one department store in under an hour. He knew Alex's sizes as well as he knew his own, based on trial and error. Fortunately, the little brat wasn't picky, not that Yassen could afford him any room to be otherwise. Blending in was more important that ever.

Irritation flooded him. How had the little idiot not thought to mention he'd been in Miami?

Yassen suppressed a scowl and reminded himself that Alex had been only moderately lucid for a few days. Now that he thought about it, he also hadn't specifically told Alex where they'd be docking. Regardless, he was certain he'd told him which country they were going to. Alex had correctly determined their destination was Las Vegas on his own. Why hadn't the boy thought to mention that he was known to the intelligence agency in said country? Obviously after what happened on Air Force One, Yassen assumed the CIA knew the little spy existed in some capacity, but he didn't realize that Alex had met the head of the agency in person while on a job for them. There could be dozens of local operatives or agents who might recognize the boy and, by extension, Yassen.

If the world thought Yassen Gregorovich was dead, they wouldn't much longer. Not only was he obviously alive, not only was his DNA probably in every government database that cooperated with MI6 (and several that did not)- now they had a picture of him of him passing through customs. Not a distant shot with a long-range lense that had to be cleaned up by a computer to be identifiably human. Not a description or a composite sketch. An actual, current photo of him.

For an assassin, he was wildly identifiable.

Yassen had made another unfortunate assumption these last few weeks: that MI6 had kept their little scandal a reasonably well guarded secret within their borders. After all, Yassen had encountered Alex on the Sayle job in England. Their meeting in France was coincidence, his arrival in Amsterdam clearly sans MI6's involvement, and the rest of the Cray project had been back in London. Instead, the unpleasant reality seemed to be that Alex had been loaned out to other intelligence agencies in several countries. The CIA might not be the only one, but they had certainly done enough to spread awareness of the boy: Alex had off-handedly revealed that based on that sole mission, he was also potentially known in both Cuba and Russia.

Russia. The very place Yassen had been counting on obscurity to hide them.

Stealing another car took time Yassen didn't want to spend, but he didn't have many options at this stage. Bus stations and other transportation centers would be monitored. It was all but guaranteed that his and Alex's fake passports were known and flagged, so renting a car or taking a plane was out. While Yassen knew of several forgers in the country who could provide him with temporary identification, he now knew that Scorpia was watching cities and contractors he'd used before. Having cut ties with the organization meant Ferri was a decent option, except for the fact that he'd packed up and moved to the other side of the planet.

Another frustrating hour and a half later, Yassen loaded up his purchases and rolled out of a long-term parking garage in an unassuming beige sedan.

And what had that comment about Yassen needing to sleep been about? Yassen fought the urge to slam his hands against the steering wheel, channeling the energy into studiously observing traffic laws instead. Perched on the dash was a wobbling hula dancer, painted smile and frozen gaze irking him far more than it should. Yes, it had been miserable being unable to sleep for a week on the cruise ship. Yes, it had clearly taken its toll on the both of them. But Yassen had been in control the entire time. Alright, maybe not the entire time but Alex had been delirious with fever for that part, so it didn't really count. Apart from Alex's medical condition's seemingly endless capacity to worsen indefinitely, there was nothing Yassen hadn't been able to adapt to and handle swiftly. Why was it that Alex suddenly had no faith in his ability to function?

He ripped the stupid hula dancer off the dash and hurled it out the window.

Yassen threw the car into park behind the motel and took in a sharp breath. Struggled to meditate as he'd learned at Malagosto, to restore his inner calm. There were more important things to worry about than whether or not Alex thought him capable. He had more immediate problems: changing their appearances, getting them out of the Miami-Dade area, leaving the state, and then driving all the way across the country to Las Vegas. It would take about a week if he went at a cautious pace (here he twitched, knowing that he'd only just come to resign himself to the level of unexpected calamity Hunter's stupid orphan could invite) and once their identities were being crafted, he could reassess Alex's mental state and decide on a mode of travel from there. Another deep breath.

It was fine. He could handle it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Ff.net is doing that thing again where it aggressively refuses to load, so per tradition, AoO is getting the love first this week. Hopefully the formatting isn't complete garbage, though I'll be sure to update it as soon as I can get the other site to cooperate. Bit of a longer chapter this week, which I hope makes up for how last minute my postings were for a stretch. Anyhow, enjoy! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Alex twisted to look at him when he shoved open the motel room door, perched precariously on the backrest of the couch and staring at the floor. Yassen didn’t have it in him to be surprised anymore, though he did feel a trickle of irritation. Alex hadn’t slept at all while he was gone, clearly. The boy was covered in sweat and breathing hard. Throw in the stress of whatever hallucination he was having and the rest of Yassen’s night was full of frustrating promise. 

With an anxious glance at the floor, Alex leapt from his perch, slamming into the carpet with a loud thump and darted over to the nearest bed. 

“Crocodiles?” Yassen asked, setting Alex’s bag on the bed. 

“Crusher,” Alex told him, panting. With another glance at the ground, Alex’s whole body twitched before he darted over to the door. Yassen opened his mouth, ready to shut down any ideas of Alex leaving the room in this state, but closed it as soon as he realized Alex was simply using it as a goal post. A split second later he pivoted, running for the back window and twisting mid-step to reassess the phantom sugar-cane grinder’s position. 

Yassen rubbed his face, the only small allowance of expression he’d permit, before grabbing one of the bags and locking himself in the small bathroom. Alex would be fine for a quarter of an hour. If anything, the small burst of cardio would be good for him.

It didn’t take long for Yassen to transform himself. He’d had plenty of practice at it before. Giving his hair a quick trim with the electric razor he’d bought took mere minutes and slathering his hair in brown hair dye less than that. Waiting for it to set, he quickly removed the labels from all of his clothing and studied his face. Alex and he shared no common features: beyond being caucasian males, there weren’t enough similarities to pass for family. They both had high cheekbones, but Yassen’s were wide where Alex’s were narrow and angled. Yassen’s jaw was stronger too, whereas Alex’s came to point. Pale blue eyes and bright brown. 

It would take more than dying their hair in order to avoid questions. Claiming to be his step-father would only get them so far before someone decided to probe. A lamp upturned in the other room; the contract killer sighed as the sounds of Alex barrelling around resumed after a brief pause. Even on days where Alex could keep his behavior under wraps, he would still draw unwanted attention. No one would bother questioning their familial connection if Alex was clearly happy and healthy. In the throes of a hallucinatio, Alex would telegraph very visible distress in the company of an older man who was obviously not a relative. That had nearly gotten them flagged in line for the cruise ship. Instead of chalking it up to a familial dispute, even a casual observer would assume Yassen a kidnapper.  

To be fair, by the legal definition of the word, he was.

Passing for family it was. Yassen trailed his fingers across his cheek. If he let his beard grow in, he could dye it and trim it to make his cheekbones more angular, thus narrowing his features. He pulled a pair of thick black prescriptionless reading glasses from the bag, slipping them on. While he’d bought them to fit himself, they would be oversized on Alex’s face, making his features appear wider. Instead, he tried on the pair he’d originally considered for Alex, a slightly angled frame made of thin metal. Turning his head side to side, he decided he was satisfied with the way they slimmed his face. Yassen had been unable to find colored contact lenses at this time of night, but if no one looked too closely at them the adjustments might just work at a glance. 

He showered quickly and changed. He emerged into the hotel room only to find Alex curled up on the bed. He shook the boy awake. “There’s no time to sleep anymore.”

Alex groaned and sat up. “I’m even more tired than I was before. Stupid crusher.” He blinked, taking in Yassen’s appearance. “Huh. You look different.”

“That’s the idea.” Yassen nodded to the bathroom. “Get up. Your turn.”

Alex reluctantly followed him inside, deathly pale in the overly warm fluorescent light. His eyes flicked over the trimmer set resting on the pink formica countertop. “I don’t think anyone’s going to pay much attention to me.”

“Don’t count on that,” Yassen snapped. This night was only getting longer and he had hours of driving ahead of him. He grabbed the trimmer and gestured for Alex to stand in front of the sink. “Come here.”

Alex froze. 

Yassen gestured again, more impatiently. “Your hair must be cut before I can dye it. Hurry up.”

Alex slowly shook his head and swallowed. “I don’t want to cut it.”

“Alex,” Yassen ground out. “You can have an opinion on your appearance once we’re not on the run. It looks awful like that anyway. Come here.”

“No. I don’t care.” Alex shook his head more vehemently, hands rising to touch the overgrown strands on either side of his face, coiling unevenly just past his chin. “Let’s just dye it. I don’t want it cut.”

Yassen fought the urge to grab Alex and drag him forward, hyperaware that he was close enough to do so. He forced his voice to remain even. “It was that length in your customs crossing photo, so we need to change it. Most boys your age don’t wear it that long. It stands out.”

“So we’ll change it’s color,” Alex said, backing away half a step. His fingers dug into his scalp.

“It needs to be cut.”

“I really, really don’t want to.” Alex took a full step back, as though sensing a shift in the air. Maybe he did. “I know it’s a pain, but I can’t cut it.”

“Is this some PTSD thing? A flashback?” Yassen demanded. He’d always just assumed that Alex’s overgrown hair was a product of being bounced between facilities. That he’d just never gotten around to asking for a trim. If Alex couldn’t handle having his hair changed, who knew what else was lurking under the surface of his condition. Maybe his delusions about the afterlife were just the tip of the iceberg. Yassen couldn’t adjust around everything, indefinitely, forever. 

Alex hesitated. “I don’t know why, I just… I can’t. Don’t take any off. Just change the color.”

Yassen’s patience snapped. This wasn’t a debate. Disguises weren’t an option. He slammed the trimmer down on the counter. Fingers clamping into Alex’s shoulder, he dragged the boy towards him and in front of the mirror. 

“Stop it!” Alex twisted in his grip and tried to ram him in the stomach with his elbow. 

Yassen clamped an arm around him, thwarting the move and furious that it had come to this. Seething. What a stupid hill to die on. It was just hair. Yassen wasn’t imposing a preference on him arbitrarily; they legitimately had to become as generic looking as possible to avoid going back to prison.

Alex responded by hooking his leg around Yassen’s to throw him off balance. A good instinct in a poor package. Unfortunately for the small teen, their height and weight difference made it improbable that he’d succeed in the first place while Yassen’s training made it next to impossible. Yassen locked his muscles and let Alex flail, unable to shift him more than an inch. Alex twisted futilely before rearing his legs up off the floor, bracing against the sink as Yassen was forced to take his whole weight. Seeing this, the older man quickly shifted his hold and stepped back before Alex could push off and send them both crashing to the floor. 

Yassen shook him, feeling that furious helplessness he thought he’d left behind at prison. What else could he do? Tie Alex up and cut his hair that way? And then what? Bundle him into the car like a hostage? He might as well hide him in the trunk for all the good that would accomplish. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He would have never even considered removing Alex from prison if he didn’t think the boy would cooperate. Or at least liked him a little. 

“Why are you like this?” he snarled, shaking him again, this time hard enough to give the boy whiplash. “It’s just hair.”

It took him a second to realize that Alex was muttering something softly under his breath. “Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t….” A quick glance in the mirror confirmed what Yassen had tried not to hear: Alex’s eyes were wide and wet, tears clinging to the dark lashes and threatening to fall.

It was so unjust. Yassen hadn’t even hurt him.

Yassen released him and stepped back, feeling the storm of emotions drain out of him to pool in his feet. Felt a little empty. A little betrayed. A little ashamed. 

“Why are you like--?” he aborted the question before he could repeat it and shook his head, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. After a few seconds, he yanked his hand away and grabbed the box color, crushing it in his fist as he ripped it open. “Nevermind. Fine. You win. I’ll just color it.”

Alex didn’t say anything, just continued standing where Yassen had left him. The older man yanked on the pair of gloves from the box and quickly mixed the dye. Dragged it through Alex’s hair in silence, tempted to pull his hair in retaliation but resisting the childish urge. Once the blonde locks were saturated with an oil-slick of vivid pigment, he shoved him away from him. Alex kept his eyes firmly on the sink and refused to make eye contact. Throwing away the gloves, Yassen went back into the room and cut the labels off of Alex’s clothes before bringing them to him. 

Alex hadn’t moved, now staring at himself in the mirror, face drawn in unhappy lines.

The older man tossed the bag on the floor. “Shower and wash that out. Pick something to wear and put on the glasses in the bag. We need to get going.” He yanked the door shut behind him. 

Yassen paced in the motel room, stoking the coals of his faded anger with a vengeance until he caught himself in the act. He had to be better than this. He hadn’t hurt Alex, he wouldn’t unless absolutely necessary-- that slap had been jarring enough for them both-- but he was quickly approaching that line again. 

This was his fault, all of it. He needed to get himself under control. Sentimentality was one thing, but this was abject stupidity. Yes, the hair thing was annoying and frustrating and potentially going to get them caught, but Yassen should have been able to stay calm. Should have been able to persuade and negotiate with the boy instead of having a temper tantrum. 

Damn it. The real problem was that Yassen had begun to relax again. The more lucid Alex became, the more Yassen forgot that he was mentally ill. Just because he’d stopped receiving the injections didn’t mean everything was fine now. Alex wouldn't be free of those chemicals for months at best, and even after those left his system, there was no guarantee that he’d be sound of mind. ‘Brain damage?’ had been one of the many, many concerning scribbles in the sparse note from Dr. Wood. Yassen couldn’t allow himself to confuse Alex’s alertness sans-antipsychotics for improvement.  

The door to the bathroom eased open a few minutes later. Sticking up and temporarily shortened from a rough towel drying, Alex’s hair now hovered around his face like a coffee colored stormcloud. As Yassen had suspected, the wide, black frames made Alex’s face appear just a touch wider, even if they emphasized his already round eyes. Standing there in a fresh pair of jeans, dark green t-shirt, and olive coat, Alex looked decidedly not like Alex anymore.

He looked like Hunter. Somehow that was worse.

 

Alex watched Yassen out of the corner of his eye as the man merged lanes smoothly and eased on the accelerator. It had started to rain about an hour ago, just as they’d left the city behind for the swampy stretches surrounding it. The sedan drove steadily through the puddles, though Alex couldn’t help but jump every time doing so threw an extra torrent of water across the windshield. While Yassen had clearly calmed down since their fight over his hair, he hadn’t spoken since and kept his gaze firmly locked on the road.

His stomach sank. Yassen must still be pretty pissed if he couldn’t even bear to look at him. 

Alex didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t explain his irrational and sudden anxiety over a haircut, of all fucking things. He’d walked into the bathroom, prepared for exactly that, but the instant he had seen those clippers he just felt a huge surge of… something. It wasn’t panic, exactly, and it had too much stubborness in it to be anger. Despair, maybe? He wasn’t sure what to call it, but he had just known that he had to keep his hair just as it was. But that was stupid! Even worse, it was impossible to explain. He knew it was critically important that they disguise themselves, had clearly understood what was likely going to happen when he’d walked into the bathroom. 

Somehow it didn’t matter. It was like flipping a switch. 

He swallowed and looked out the window. He’d rolled his jacket into a makeshift pillow against the headrest and window, but hadn’t been able to find sleep. To think he’d been so happy earlier. He’d jumped off a balcony and built a barricade. How could he be so stupid as to think he was even approaching his old state? He was nowhere near close to performing at the level he’d used to on all his past missions and probably never would be again. Like metal that had been twisted until it broke, he was far too damaged to hold his shape anymore. Too weak. Inside or outside of prison, Alex was in no position to control his destiny.

Julius laughed in the backseat. “You’re nothing now, Alex Rider. You’re not special. You’re not a superspy. You have no idea what’s coming your way.”

Alex shut his eyes and sighed. His unnatural twin had been riding along with them for the better part of a half hour. At least he wasn’t trying to aim a gun at his head or show him his finger hovering over the button that would detonate the Jeep. He didn’t need to. Alex was miserable enough already.

Neon green numbers shifted on the silent radio’s clock. An hour until midnight. Yassen’s eyes flicked to the time before his lips twisted. “Are you going to sleep or do you want another dose?”

Alex hesitated. “I don’t think I can. Another dose.”

Yassen dug into his pocket. After a moment of fumbling, he produced a small white pill and dropped it in Alex’s waiting palm before returning his eyes to the road. 

The pill tasted bitter and sliding down his throat with all the fluidity of a brick. Alex felt the sudden urge to shout. Why was everything so frustrating now? This wasn't how it always was. This wasn’t how Yassen had been in prison. 

To be fair, life had been much easier for both of them in prison. Neither of them had the final decision in anything. It had been easy to get along when there was nothing else to do. It had been easy for Yassen to look after him when he’d had help. It had been easy for Alex to trust him when there were only so many things to divide them. Out in the real world, things were far more complicated and apparently, far more likely to go wrong. Alex hadn’t expected to miss prison, but now he found himself wistfully looking back on the not so distant memories of being within ten feet of each other without constant stress. He hated it, but didn’t know how to fix it.

He’d already tried apologizing when they’d fought about his hair. That hadn’t done much, though Yassen had been a lot more angry at the time. Should he try again?

He opened his mouth a split second before he registered a sudden queue of tail lights. The roadblock stretched about the length of a football field. Alex felt himself tense in his seat as he spotted road flares in the distance. Police cars lined in the road in an improvised roadblock, while at least half a dozen officers roamed, flashing lights into the cars and checking identifications. Given the sparse nature of the late night traffic, there was no way they could turn around without being seen.

Yassen pressed on the brakes and slowed. “Pretend to be asleep,” he ordered, as he pulled the car to a stop. After a second, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out whatever driver’s license he’d been keeping in his wallet, setting it on the dashboard.

Alex didn’t miss the way Yassen’s hand drifted to the gun he’d kept tucked beneath his jacket.

Obediently, Alex dropped his head onto his shoulder pillow and shut his eyes to slits. Forced himself to breathe long and slow, despite his sudden surge of anxiety. Getting caught would be pretty terrible, but Alex found himself far more concerned for whatever poor policeman shone his light in their car. If he so much as took a double take at Yassen’s license, Alex didn’t doubt Yassen would use lethal force immediately.

Desensitization to death had been sort of inevitable, Alex knew. From the very first moment at Point Blanc Academy when he’d realized Wolf and the others weren’t using blanks to the first fews rifle shots when the Egyptians had raided Razim’s compound, Alex had been forced to accept that lives were always lost in the crossfire. Had grown unhappily used to the idea. Hating reality didn’t change it; Alex knew that damn well by this point. Instead, Alex promised himself that he’d always fight for the innocent bystander, to minimize the senseless violence on those unprepared to encounter it. Soldiers and criminals signed up for what they got, at least in some capacity.

Alex’s stomach rolled. He could almost sense the proximity of Yassen’s firearm, even with his eyes shut. For some reason, these policemen didn’t feel the same, even though by definition they put their lives on the line every day. Probably because they’d signed up to protect people, not wage war. Alex hadn’t been happy when Yassen had shot the dozens of Scorpia operatives between the prison and Miami, but it hadn’t made him want to vomit. Not like this.

Please don’t do it, please don’t do it….

For a roadblock, the line moved quicker than he expected and within five minutes they’d reached the front. Abruptly, a light shone into the passenger seat. Alex didn’t have to fake his sudden spasm, squinting beneath his glasses and raising a shielding hand as though being woken from a nap. 

He stared into the silhouetted face of an officer, feeling his heart climb into his throat. Alex didn’t want to have to attack Yassen to prevent the spilling of police blood, but for a split second he was positive he would absolutely have to try. Surely he and Yassen still matched the loose descriptions of the missing cruise ship passengers, if not their exact pictures. Surely the police would investigate any two males matching their rough ages and--

The officer shining a light in Alex’s face waved his coworker away, who was mid-sentence requesting to see Yassen’s license. “Sorry to wake you, little missy. Move along.” He rapped the roof of the car with his fist, already turning his attention to the next vehicle. “Keep the line going, Dan. It’s starting to build up again.”

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

Mere seconds after the car eased forward past the checkpoint and back onto the highway, they met each others’ eyes. Yassen took one look at Alex’s outraged horror. Choked.

The tension between them burst like a balloon.

Alex flushed bright red and covered his face. “For fuck’s sake,” he moaned into his hands.

Yassen burst into laughter. The sound seemed to come from deep in his chest, tearing it’s way out as though it ripped free of its own mirthful accord. 

If Alex were any less mortified at the moment, he might have taken more than a split second to realize he’d never actually heard Yassen laugh before. Not like this. It was a surprisingly full laugh and seemed to both fit the man and not. Clearly it was coming from his vocal chords anyway. 

Just as Yassen started to trail off, Alex groaned aloud and muttered, “It’s not funny.”

That set Yassen off again. This time he laughed even harder, if such a thing were possible. He hunched over the steering wheel, shoulders wracking so much that Alex was about to suggest he pull over before he drove them off the road. It took another good five minutes before Yassen recovered enough to catch his breath, one hand leaving the steering wheel to wipe at his eyes. He muttered something in Russian that Alex didn’t catch, but followed it up with, “What am I going to do with you, little Alex?”

“Bloody fantastic,” Alex grumbled, folding his arms and eyeing Yassen askance. “Maybe I should just steer into it and put it up in pigtails.” 

Yassen snickered and pressed the back of his hand to his face. “Add a pretty pink bow and we can drive straight through every checkpoint in the country,” he gasped, after another moment.

“Fine, but I’m drawing the line at wearing a skirt. I’m not going to cross-dress us out of danger.” Alex pressed his hands against his cheeks again. They were beginning to cool, but one glance in the visor mirror let him know that he was still bright pink. 

“Not on purpose.” Yassen erupted into another peel of laughter as Alex glared.

A town popped up on the side of the highway. Apart from a gas station or two, few businesses seemed open at this time of night, but Alex spotted a twenty-four hour diner with its lights on but a more or less empty parking lot. 

Alex gestured at it, scowling. “If you can laugh, you can buy me pancakes.”

“Hm. I suppose I can,” Yassen agreed, surprising Alex by actually pulling off the highway and into the parking lot. 

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. You’re dying for a cigarette already. This is going to be a long trip if we keep stopping for smoke breaks.”

Yassen raised an eyebrow back. “Not hungry after all? Perhaps we shouldn’t stop.”

“Alright, I take it back,” Alex grumbled as Yassen pulled into a parking space. He unbuckled his seatbelt with a snap. “I’ll trade pancakes for silence. I’ll even eat an entire scurvy-repelling strawberry.” At Yassen’s disbelieving stare, he added, “On the side. With syrup. And cream.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Utterly stoked to give you guys this chapter. Everyone's been saying how much they're looking forward to the "all your past missions since I've been in prison" conversation and here we go. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, thanks so much for all the comments, guys. You all make my week so much better and it definitely motivates me to keep going. :D

Ten minutes later, after a quick cigarette in the parking lot, Yassen sat across Alex in their booth, watching the boy meticulously empty the third of Yassen’s spurned sugar packets into his milkshake. Swallowed the urge to say something, even though the redheaded waitress was staring at the boy slack-jawed, having forgotten the dishrag in her hand mid wipe of the counter top. It occurred to him about two hours ago that Alex had never actually eaten anything before they’d fled the ship. As memorable as the little spy’s eating habits might be, at least he wouldn’t pass out from hunger.

“You’re going to give yourself diabetes,” he told the teen.

Alex rolled his eyes, stirring his drink with his straw. “That’s a myth.”

Yassen took a sip of his coffee, shrugging.

“Besides, don’t Americans love sugar?” Alex said, affecting a West Coast accent that bordered on mockery. He toned it down to something a lot more natural sounding. His coaching with the CIA had evidently been worthwhile.  “I’m just practicing for our cover. Blending in. Which state are we from again?”

“Nevada.” 

“Oh.” Alex took a meditative bite of milkshake. “Do they have a different accent?”

“Not a noticeable one. West Coast will do.” Yassen studied the other patrons reflections in the window. Only two other tables were occupied, one with a long road trucker who seemed ready to fall asleep in his coffee and the other with a trio of drunk, giggling girls in their early twenties draped in their booth on the other side of the restaurant. They burst into shrieking laughter sporadically. The waitress had disappeared into the back. “Speaking of American covers, I need to know everything about the time you were here.”

Alex glanced around before sighing. “With the CIA?”

Yassen paused. “Did you ever come to Miami before that?”

“Once. Disneyland. When I was eight, I think.” Alex scowled into his glass, dragging his fingers down the side and cutting lines in the condensation. “Normally I’d assume it’s not relevant, but lately I’ve realized a lot of holidays when I was small were actually missions for Ian. At least half.” Alex sighed and glanced out the window at the wet pavement. “I might be in more than one file somewhere.”

Yassen sipped his coffee carefully. The last time Ian Rider had come up, Alex had been screaming about sin and the afterlife. Alex’s grip on reality was recent enough that Yassen didn’t want to rock that boat. Or discuss how Yassen ruined his life. Not that he felt guilt over killing Ian Rider. Not exactly. “Alright. We won’t worry about anything that happened before you were old enough to fill out a mission report.”

Alex stared at him. “I’ve never filled out a mission report. They’d just ask me what happened.”

“Did you ever read a written version of your accounts and sign it?”

The boy chewed on his lower lip as he thought. “Apart from signing the Official Secrets Act, no.”

“Of course not,” Yassen sighed. After all, blackmail hadn’t been off the table. It was nice to know that if he ever got ahold of Alex’s MI6 file, he could expect it to be a mostly sanitized fiction written to cover the higher ups’ asses. 

Their waitress returned, ponytail bobbing as she set their food down in front of them. After a quick refill of his coffee, she shot one annoyed look at the shrieking college girls before darting back into the kitchen. Dousing his cream and strawberry covered pancakes in syrup, Alex stabbed a few pieces on his fork but didn’t eat it. “I’ll just start with my first mission for MI6. At least that I knew about. It’s probably better if I go in order.”

Yassen listened carefully to Alex’s overview of his first mission, interrupting only to clarify specific points. It was nice to confirm Alex had definitely been there that night on the beach in Cornwall, but nothing else about the Stormbreaker affair startled him, apart from MI6’s willingness to employ a child in the first place. Beyond that, he only got to enjoy a fresh surge of horror at how little training Alex had been provided: beyond a survival course with the SAS (of all the irrelevant branches of the military), Alex hadn’t actually gotten any coaching on how to deceive.

“None?” Yassen interrupted. “They made you run laps around Wales and do obstacle courses, but they never had anyone talk to you about how to maintain a cover or decipher body language? In that entire time?”

“Well, they made me read computer books. Or said that I should,” Alex said, wincing. He cringed a little in his seat, evidently debating whether or not to continue. Hid his face in his hands, meeting Yassen’s eyes through the gaps between his fingers and added, “But no one taught me how to lie. It was bad. My name was supposed to be Felix and I actually told Sayle to call me Alex. Those were actually the first words I ever said to him. They knew who I was immediately.”

Yassen hid a flinch behind a sip of coffee. Alex didn’t seem remotely fooled, but he pressed on with his summary nonetheless. Yassen felt a small wave of relief as Alex finished with their rooftop meeting and moved on to his next mission without any signs of serious upset. Despite having to mention his uncle, his uncle’s death, and Yassen back-to-back, Alex somehow managed to avoid connecting those three things in any lingering way. 

When Alex explained his little stunt with a crane and a tugboat, Yassen couldn’t quite suppress a small twitch. Now that had sounded more like the little brat he’d met on a rooftop nearly two years ago. If Alex noticed, he didn’t show it other than hunching in his seat as he went on to explain the school Grief had been running with his little clones. His account of that mission was brief and to the point, up to and including his idiot stunt on an ironing-snowboard when MI6 decided to ignore his distress signal followed by his immediate removal from the hospital to escort the strike team back into the school. Yassen was hardly surprised by either MI6’s ruthlessness nor Alex’s childlike panic-creativity when it came to surviving. His account of the Grief boy’s destruction of the science building was jarring enough-- for some reason Yassen hadn’t expected Alex’s spy life to follow him to school. 

Alex’s foray into the CIA went about as well as Yassen could have expected. As was quickly becoming a theme, Alex’s situation at home suddenly and conveniently made it sensible to get away for awhile on some “minor” errand for MI6. His time in Miami, as Yassen understood it, was fairly uneventful until Alex blew up a yacht in order to save one of the agents. Not that Yassen found himself terribly shocked. It was the same organization that had brought them the ever competent Dr. Wood, after all. Alex’s account of the rest of the mission was brief but colorful-- the deaths of the agents, the appearance of the crusher, his bizarre kidnapping/adoption, failed escape attempts, and eventual arrival in Murmansk where he watched a man commit suicide and narrowly prevented a nuclear disaster.

Yassen held up a hand to pause Alex before he could start the next mission. “Let’s ensure I’m keeping proper count. So far, in three missions, you’ve managed to make yourself highly visible to the SAS, the Prime Minister, your local drug dealers, the French authorities, the Chinese Triads, the CIA, Joe Byrne, the Cuban authorities, and the Russian authorities.”

Alex nodded.

Yassen gathered his thoughts. Clearly he had failed to correctly assume the scale of Alex’s involvement. They needed to get on the same page. “You’ve covered three missions, not counting whatever else you’ve forgotten to mention. How many did you go on total?”

Alex scrunched up his nose as he considered that. Put out three fingers, wiggled a fourth as though debating internally, then stuck up a fifth. He repeated this indecisive process, evidently struggling to parse the distinctions between MI6’s calls and his own inability to let things lie. Eventually he put his hands back of the table and said, “Ten, if we just count stuff in which someone really important got arrested or killed at the end.”

Yassen swore under his breath in Russian. 

Alex winced. “Sorry. It’s a lot.”

Yassen shook his head and shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Alex froze in the action of reaching for his milkshake, suddenly glancing up at Yassen with more than a passing amount of trepidation. “I forgot to mention something. It’s kind of important, since you want to go to Russia.”

Yassen did everything in his power to not sigh openly. It came out anyway.

“So, while I was in Skeleton Key with Sarov, he kind of introduced me to a bunch of people as his new son.” Alex winced and played with his straw. “Including the Russian president at the time. Kiriyenko. And at least a dozen other politicians and businessmen who came with him in his delegation. I’m sure most of them were too focused on Sarov to pay much attention to me, though. I might have also been on Russian TV, but just in the background of the story on the president.”

Of course he had. Of fucking course he had. 

Yassen reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “Hold that thought.”

O

Alex stared at the flecks of silver in the formica tabletop, unable to suppress the sudden surge of panic rising like bile in his throat. He forced himself to spread his hands on the table, stubbornly refusing to start breathing to the count of four. That would just legitimize the irrational fear growing in him with every passing second. Shifting in his seat, Alex rested his cheek on his palm and glanced out the glass window.

_See_ , he told himself, watching the man smoke on the edge of the pavement. _He’s still there_. 

Not that he would blame him for taking off. Alex’s hazy memories of his time on the cruise ship made him want to bury his face in his hands. His random shouting. Calling him Mum. How Yassen had resisted the urge to tip him off the balcony was a mystery Alex was far too embarrassed to try and solve. 

On top of his weird hair conniption, Alex got to give him the thrillings news that the very place where Yassen had wished to hide him, his home country no less, was somewhere Alex could be recognized with disastrous results. He hadn’t even gotten into the possible complications of the shit with Drevin and his connections to the Russian mob.

“Tell him!” Julius urged, coming to stand beside the table. He grinned down at Alex with a malicious little grin, eyes flashing. “You’re doing exactly what I want you to.”

Alex refused to look at him. Julius might be a product of his own mind’s chemical chaos, responding to Alex’s stress by compounding it with his worst memories, but that didn’t mean he was going to encourage his waking nightmare. Instead, he focused on watching Yassen’s silhouette as the man paced slowly and stared out over the cars. Probably considering cutting his losses and driving away. Alex would go back to prison within days and Yassen would be free to disappear without Alex to drag him down.

It was probably best if Alex left first. Whatever weird compulsion driving Yassen’s loyalty was phenomenally unfair to the man. The afterlife wasn’t punishing him with Alex in a pique of cosmic justice. Ian had died because that’s what happened to spies. It had always been coming regardless of when or how or who had done it. As easy as it would be to blame the man who pulled the trigger, Alex’s care shouldn’t have to be Yassen’s cross to bear. 

He slumped forward, pressing his forehead against the cold table. He couldn’t bring himself to go. It was stupid and selfish of him to rely so much on Yassen’s willingness to help him, but there it was.

Julius leaned forward, pushing into Alex’s personal space and hovering mere inches from Alex’s ear. “You’ll always be on your own. No parents. No friends. No Jack. Nothing.”

Alex nodded into the table. Julius had been right in the end after all. Just because Alex hated the idea didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Too bad he was too much of a coward to actually do something about it.

He heard rather than saw Yassen return to his seat, reeking of tobacco and the smell of rain. Spared a second to let that sink in. Yassen, meticulous about his health, had gone through an entire pack today. Alex was fairly certain the assassin hadn’t been a smoker before he’d met him. 

Maybe instead of exploding all at once like Jack, the fire would devour Yassen one puff at a time.

“Good old Alex has done it again!” Julius crowed. 

Alex sat bolt upright and glared. “Shut up!” he hissed.

Yassen sat back in his seat, seeming somehow more tired but unnervingly calm as always. “Julius again?”

Alex grimaced and propped his chin in his hand, nearly getting syrup on his sleeve. Forcing his breathing to even out, he admitted, “He’s been here since we left the motel. It was so much easier when he just laughed. Now he won’t shut up.”

Yassen considered him. “What’s he saying?”

“Only the same things he’s said before, just applying it in new ways.” Alex sighed. “He sounded like me because he’d been trained to, but I could always hear the difference in our voices. I guess my brain isn’t feeling up to inventing any new material.”

“Such as?” Yassen met Alex’s glanced steadily.

He shrugged and looked away. Julius giggled and slid back into the booth behind him. “Just the usual stuff. It’s not really anything special, not compared to some of the other shit people have said before trying to murder me.” He stiffened and twisted in his seat to glare at the empty booth behind him. “He just won’t go away.”   
  



	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER long chapter today, guys. I was actually tempted to split it in half and just give you Yassen's POV, but then I realized the whole thing really does belong together for the sake of coherency. A lot of info gets presented up front and I think it's better just to get it all out in one go. :D
> 
> Quick note: If you haven't read the Alex Rider short story, Christmas at Gunpoint, certain references won't make sense. Here's a link if you haven't: https://alexrider92.blogspot.com/2008/06/christmas-at-gunpoint.html

Yassen watched Alex struggle to ignore his phantom stalker. There was no real solution to this particular hallucination; not that Yassen knew of, anyway. He hadn’t failed to note the vague signs of a panic attack unfolding, despite the dose of Xanax Alex had this morning. Perhaps he should increase the amount. It was risky, though. It wasn’t as though he actually knew how much Alex should be on and he had been hoping to make his current supply last until they got their new identities. 

He glanced once at the clock hanging above the register. They’d been talking for the better part of an hour. Yassen nodded to the waitress as he stood. “We should get back on the road. We’ll finish this in the car.”

Alex grimaced, reflection pale in the glass of the window. “Okay.”

Yassen paid quickly and returned. Alex had yet to begin gasping for breath, but Yassen hoped to get him into the car before it hit completely. They really couldn’t afford to be any more noteworthy tonight. Alex scrubbed a hand across his face and stared at his feet as they returned to the car. 

“Everything alright?” Yassen asked him, as the engine turned over. 

Alex pressed his palm against his chest, face tight. “Yeah, actually. I mean, no, but better.”

“Explain.” 

Swallowing, Alex shut his eyes and leaned back into the seat as Yassen pulled them back onto the highway. “It’s just a regular panic attack. Like before. I think it’s almost over.”

Yassen started. “Before what?”

“Before the hallucinations got bad.” Alex took a steadying breath and straightened in his seat, suddenly seeming more alert. “Maybe the injections are starting to wear off.”

Yassen tilted his head. A little flicker of hope rose in him. He didn’t squash it right away, mostly because it felt realistic. Alex was still having panic attacks, just less visible ones. He could just as easily relapse. “Perhaps. Between that and the Xanax, you might be ready to return to school in a few months.”

Alex dropped his hand to his lap and rolled his eyes. “Of course. All roads lead to school for you, don’t they?” Yassen gave him a wry look but didn’t say anything. Alex smiled back and stared out the window. “Honestly, I’m looking forward to it. I always liked going when I could.”

Yassen bit back the comment that it shouldn’t be optional and certainly shouldn’t be talked about wistfully, like a penchant for snowboarding whenever the weather allowed. There was nothing Alex could really do about that, as it had never really been his decision to stop attending in the first place. Besides, who was Yassen to talk? He hadn’t gone to school since he was fourteen. Everything else he’d learned had either come from a drunk mafia tutor or Scorpia. 

Alex shifted in his seat and picked at the strap of his seat belt. “Do you want to finish hearing about my missions? I still don’t think I’m tired enough to sleep.”

Yassen nodded, even though he’d been perfectly willing to put it off until the next morning. Having so many knee-jerk emotional responses to everything was exhausting. How had he dealt with it up until the age of twenty was beyond him.  “Anything important happen between Sarov and when I saw you in France?”

Alex blinked and made that little thinking hum he made nowadays without realizing it. “I don’t think so. It was a perfectly lovely, normal holiday,” he stressed the last bit with a note of annoyance, “until someone decided to blow up the house. Did a lot of surfing up until then.”

Yassen gave him an unimpressed look. “Don’t forget our impromptu firearm safety lesson. That was fun.”

Alex let out a snort, rolling his eyes. “Plus that matador excursion. Really got to appreciate the local culture there.”

Yassen grimaced, feeling his stomach turn at the memory of his failed attempt to teach Alex a lesson about the dangers of spying. How wonderful getting to realize again and again that a) it had been a wasted effort anyway given the blackmail factor and b) had probably contributed to Alex’s trauma. Or not. Alex seemed to have little to no qualms discussing those particular events. Yassen found himself wishing he could allow himself to relax, but that had bitten him before. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

Alex scoffed, but he didn’t sound angry the way Yassen expected. “You want to know what’s funny? I wasn’t going to. When I saw you on that ship the first time, I actually managed to convince myself that it wasn’t my business. That phone conversation I overheard had nothing to do with me. I wasn’t even going to report seeing you. What reason did the French police have to believe me anyway? Almost every time I try, it ends with me being told to reign in my imagination and stop bothering the adults.”

“And then I blew up the house.”

“And then you blew up the house,” Alex confirmed, lips twisting. He was quiet for a minute before he seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. “Anyway, when I got back to London I tried to talk to MI6 about the whole thing…”

Alex sped through the rest of his account, keeping it brief and to the point since Yassen knew much of what had transpired anyway. It was a little disconcerting hearing Alex speak of Yassen bleeding out on Air Force One, how clearly he’d been on death’s door. Frankly, the surgeons who operated on him had been about as skeptical about his odds of survival. At any rate, Yassen forced himself to focus on Alex’s words as he moved on to explaining the events that led him to get entangled with Scorpia in Venice. 

By the time they reached Alex’s assassination attempt on Mrs. Jones, Yassen felt like he was being torn in two. Sending the boy to Scorpia had obviously added to the boy’s exponentially worsening problems, yet MI6 had clearly intended to keep using him, so perhaps it was a moot point. Casting doubt on John Rider’s character had obviously been distressing for Alex, yet Yassen wasn’t so naive as to think that Alex was better off not knowing the truth. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Alex told him quietly. “I really, really wanted to, but I couldn’t. I pulled the trigger, but I felt my aim shift at the last second. She confirmed it for me later, when they analyzed the bullet proof glass and the angles and everything. I would have missed.” Alex twisted his hands in his lap. “When she sent me to the facility and then to prison, I really wish I’d gone through with it.”

“Killing is for adults,” Yassen reminded him. Which Yassen was. If he were to encounter Alan Blunt or Tulip Jones anytime in the future, he wouldn’t think twice about exercising that adulthood.

Alex grimaced. “Anyway, that’s when they told me that Dad had actually been a double agent and that his death had been faked….”

Yassen managed to hold his tongue and follow Alex’s reactive thought process and he described his pivoting uncertainty and tentative reliance on MI6, all the way up to the point where he had to prevent the death of thousands of school children including himself. It was when he explained Julia Rothman’s death that Yassen had to press a hand to his mouth to stifle bitter laughter. 

This was turning into such a weird night. 

Alex froze, studying Yassen. “You alright?’

“Fine, fine.” Yassen waved a free hand, quickly getting himself under control. He was tempted by another stray giggle. She’d essentially been crushed by her own ego. It was perfect. “I hated her so much.”

“Because she ordered the hit on my parents?” Alex asked him. “Or because she was a bitch?”

That shut down the giggles. Yassen paused and flicked a glance at Alex. “That was her?”

“Yeah, she got my godfather to do it. He was mad because you stabbed him in Malta and ruined his career.” Alex paused. “That’s skipping forward, though.”

“Go in order then.”

“Alright. After the satellites were downed, a Scorpia sniper shot me in the heart while I was going to Royal and General.” Alex glanced out the window of the car. “It didn’t hurt, oddly enough. I just fell over on the pavement and couldn’t move.”

Yassen said nothing, casting his mind back. To something Alex had said in prison. The bullet wound he’d seen in the exam with Scalia. His insistence that his parents came to sit with him on the pavement. The way Alex kept pressing his palm against his own chest between calling out for his mother until Yassen drunkenly agreed to play the part. 

“Did they come after you again?” Yassen asked. 

“I didn’t get a chance to find out, not right away.” Alex’s tone was a study in bitter resignation. “Blunt arranged to have my hospital room by a kid named Paul Drevin, whose father had ties to the Ark Angel project and the Russian mafia. My fault. I shouldn’t have gotten involved, I know. Either way, I got kidnapped in his place….”

Alex’s accounts of his missions began to grow terse, as though he had to bite out the words. It made a certain kind of sense: these were the most recent memories, to which Yassen could begin to directly trace hallucinations back to. The boy slowed a time or two to let the panic overtake him for ten minutes apiece, but quickly got back onto the long, stressful narrative of what had become of his last year. Yassen suspected he was eager to get it over with.

Yassen stifled his comments when Alex detailed his return from space and subsequent shanghaiing by ASIS. What else could he call it? Between Alan Blunt and all the other heads of the intelligence agencies, it was becoming clearer and clearer that the child spy only ever had the illusion of consent. Alex himself seemed to realize it on a surface level, but he had only seen the obvious. Yassen had long gotten used to the concept of child soldiers, however much he personally disliked the idea, but the staggering level of pageantry utilized to manipulate Alex into thinking he’d agreed to these missions made Yassen’s blood boil. Friendly soldiers luring the boy onto a minefield to test him, followed by dangling a lost godfather as bait into a high risk mission. A convenient new friend in the hospital room next door to ensure a private line into Drevin’s personal life. The constant assertions that some group or organization was out to kill him or his schoolmates. 

It was impossible to know how much Alex had failed to notice, how much he had yet to put together. 

He set a hand on Alex’s arm, just as the boy was launching into the premise of his mission with Ash. “Take a break. We will finish this in the morning.”

Alex looked at him and set his jaw. “I’d rather keep going. We’re only halfway and I don’t want to keep inviting the panic attacks.”

“I’ll give you extra Xanax tomorrow,” Yassen said, flexing his fingers against the wheel. “I’m too angry to finish tonight.”

That was the wrong answer. Alex was instantly on edge. “I know. I’m sorry so many organizations found out about me. Russia might be too risky. I don’t really know how much--”

“It’s not that,” Yassen told him shortly. Alex didn’t seem convinced, so he went on, careful to keep his voice even. “So many organizations knowing about you isn’t ideal, but it isn’t impossible either. The mafia probably only knows you by name and we can keep disguising you in case they’ve circulated a photo. Even if a dozen politicians or the president himself recalls meeting you at a party over a year ago, they probably couldn’t pick you out of a lineup. Same for a random boy in the back of a news segment that aired months ago. It increases the risk, but it isn’t a deal breaker.”

“Oh.” Alex pushed his hair out of his face, considering that. “So why are you angry?”

Yassen almost didn’t answer. His instincts, begrudgingly re-honing themselves for his new, counter-intuitively balanced life, alerted him to the fact that failing to answer would only spiral Alex down the ‘why’ path again. There was also a good chance Alex would assume an answer and internalize it in some bizarre manner Yassen couldn’t untangle. As much as he was loathe to give the truth, he was far less willing to deal with the fallout of doing otherwise.

Took a deep breath. “MI6. I’m furious at MI6.”

Alex studied him for a long minute, brows knitted, probably trying to spot the motivations behind such a statement. Yassen didn’t blame him, given the psychopathic levels of manipulation that most adults in his life seemed to wield against him. “About which part?”

“All of it,” Yassen snapped. “You should have never been dragged into in the first place.”

Alex swallowed and wrapped his arms around himself. “I mean, I wish I’d said no a few more times, but I really did help save people.”

“That’s not your job. It’s theirs. You never said yes, Alex. No matter how much they tried to persuade you to, you never actually understood what you were--” Yassen slammed his jaw shut, forcing the tidal wave of anger to at least adhere to external silence. 

Alex stiffened. “Look, they weren’t great about it and blackmailed me and sometimes they lied about the details, but I almost always agreed. When it wasn’t my idea in the first place.”

“When? When was it ever your idea? At best, you could argue Cray, but you were under personal threat and no one would help you or take you seriously. That’s self defense, Alex. You never agreed,” Yassen spat. “A situation designed to leave you unable to refuse doesn’t count. If saying no isn’t an option, it’s not a choice: it’s an order in disguise.”

Alex was quiet, hunched slightly in his seat. “Not always….”

“Yes, always.” Yassen gripped the steering so hard the joints in his finger ached. “From the very beginning. Spies don’t have offices, little Alex. Beyond being a waste of classified space if they’re active in the field, an assigned office could be used by moles to identify the fact that a spy works for an intelligence agency in the first place. When they do, they certainly aren’t labeled with a spy’s actual name and they sure as hell don’t have personally identifying things on their desks like photos of their children. That wasn’t a test, it was a trap. You did what they wanted because they made you think and feel what they wanted.”

Hearing those words aloud, Yassen froze. Suddenly, something else that had bothered him clicked into place. " _Sukiny deti._ "

O

“What?” Alex demanded, feeling something inside him burn at the words. It was one thing to feel like MI6 had never really given him a choice, since he seemed constantly stuck between two shit options: do whatever they wanted or be thrown to the wolves. But to think, for even a minute, that he’d been a rat in a maze who could run in circles all he liked until he finally opted to take the only road forward? The one MI6 wanted?  “So I’ve been completely powerless this whole time and I didn’t even know it? Everything was decided for me?”

“You said it yourself. Choices you don’t know you have aren’t really choices,” Yassen said faintly, only half present. The Russian seemed lost in thought for a long minute. 

Confusion and panic drifted across his mind, clouding his thoughts like smoke and ash. Alex leaned forward over his knees, breathing in counts of four even though his panic attack had yet to steal his breath. His heart hammered against his rib cage, trying to punch it’s way through the bone to freedom. 

Everything had been a lie to get him to go along? 

It couldn’t all be. Could it? 

A wave of despair rose in him. He didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. He’d made so many choices! So many hard choices, ones that hurt so much to make! He’d been scared and injured and horrified, but he’d decided time and time again to get up out of a hospital bed or leave his life behind to help people. Had decided that maybe his own life wasn’t worth the lives of countless others. 

Over and over and over again.

He shook his head and glared at the man. Yassen just wanted him to be on his side, whatever that was. That’s why he was saying this. 

White hot fury displaced all his other feelings. It was almost a relief. Yassen just wanted him to hate MI6 so he could get him to do… something! He didn’t know what, but of course the man wouldn’t tell him until it was time. No one ever did. They were all the same: MI6, ASIS, the CIA, Yassen. Just biding their time until he couldn’t back out. All that stuff about going to school in Russia and making him study those stupid textbooks in prison were just so-- so--

Just so Yassen.

Alex groaned and dropped his head in his hands. Yassen hadn’t known he would ever leave prison when he’d stubbornly committed himself to Alex’s future, had he? Even if he did, he’d elected to not go along with Scorpia-- or at least it seemed that way when he’d agreed to testify against them and stole their helicopter. 

Yassen could just be in deep cover, only pretending to be a traitor to the terrorist organization. An elaborate ruse. They might still be working together to trap Alex. But into what? Yassen could have killed him already. If he wanted him to be an assassin, wouldn’t he have worked harder to get Alex to kill people on the way here? There had been plenty of opportunity. Yet every time they’d come under fire, Yassen had basically shoved Alex behind him and only given him a gun to protect himself. Alex hadn’t even fired one since Yassen had gotten them both out of prison.

As much as he shook with rage and panic, Alex couldn’t completely abandon common sense. Yassen was a nag and a mother hen: as shocking as these traits had been to discover in the man, they were too pervasive for Alex to doubt them now. What was more likely? That Yassen had brilliantly acted that way the whole time, after waiting a year for Alex to arrive in prison-- but prior to Alex committing any serious crimes big enough to warrant incarceration? 

His anger at MI6 seemed genuine. He was attached to Alex for god knew what reasons. Maybe Yassen wanted Alex to be on his side, but that would be better served by trying to sell him on whatever that side was. Yassen genuinely seemed to have no idea why he was doing any of this. Besides, Alex already hated MI6, had already admitted he’d wished he’d killed Jones when he’d had the chance. He didn’t need convincing. Why bother beating a dead horse by accusing them of more manipulation?

No. It was true, then, or at least Yassen thought it was. 

Alex wanted to yell, to hit something, to destroy something. All this time, he’d always been powerless, had always been at the mercy of MI6. Ever since Ian died, he’d only been permitted the luxury of feeling independent.

Yassen touched his arm, eyes... hesitant. Alex had never seen this exact look on the man’s face before. “Alex, I have to tell you something. It’s just a theory.”

“What is it?”

Yassen studied his face. “It’s just a theory,” he repeated. “I don’t want you to read too much into it.”

Alex looked him dead in the eye. “If you don’t want to tell me, then why are you?”

“Because if I don’t in order to prevent you from responding a certain way, that makes me the same as MI6.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something under his breath. “And that is uncomfortably important to me right now.”

Something about that honesty made Alex pause. Yassen was never this direct about the way he felt about anything, not even the weather. This was new. Nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“I think you were raised to be a spy.”

Right. Maybe he hadn’t already explained that part enough. Alex nodded wearily. “Yeah, it’s practically in our DNA. Ian was really into spy stuff, looking back. Loved watching all the James Bond movies and whatever else came out. Taught me a bunch of things under the guise of games. Memorize all the license plates in the parking lot for an ice cream. Evaluate the people two tables over to guess why they’re at this restaurant. A holiday spent paintballing in America using combat tactics for a laugh. That sort of thing.”

Yassen nodded, still in that half-hesitant mode Alex wasn’t sure he liked. “Yes, but I think it was more than a hobby he wanted to share with you. More than him hoping you’d grow up to be good at it.” Yassen seemed to consider his next words more carefully. “The fact that your custody was left to a bank and not your nanny was a red flag but do you realize how bizarre it was to test you the way Blunt did in the first place? To set up a false file in a false office in advance? That’s a lot of effort spent hoping for a response that almost had no chance of even crossing an average teenager’s mind. That speaks to extremely unusual and specific expectations of not only of your capabilities but of your personality. If he already planned to blackmail you into service, why not skip straight to knocking you out and bringing you directly to that manor? Unless his expectations were already set well before and he simply wanted to confirm.”

“No,” Alex said, shaking his head. “It was because I went to find the car that they noticed me--” 

He broke off, flinching. Not wanting to poke at the memory. It unfurled anyway. 

The weird vibes from Blunt at the funeral. The obvious gun. Returning home to see the Stryker and Sons moving van outside their house. 

Little breadcrumbs, carefully left out for him to follow. 

He’d only found the junkyard holding his uncle’s bullet ridden car because it had the same name as the moving company. What were the odds that one company diversified in both moving home furniture and auto wrecking? Alex didn’t know much about business, but it didn’t seem likely seeing given how unrelated the two lines of work were. They didn’t even use the same types of vehicles. If it had really just been some outside contractor like Blunt had told him, it was one hell of a coincidence. 

Otherwise, it meant that Alex had almost been crushed to death on an MI6 owned lot. Possibly surveilled the whole time. Another test. 

Then the office. Waking up at the training center before he’d agreed to anything. His custody issues. Blackmail, all tidy and ready to go.

Alex stared blankly at Yassen as his meaning reached him. It was like his chest cavity had been scooped out. “You mean they fully intended for me to end up doing what I did. The missions. That Ian and Blunt raised me to be a child spy whether I wanted to be or not.”

Yassen nodded faintly. “Even if your upbringing was coincidence, the fact that Blunt had formed expectations about your abilities at fourteen suggests that it was not. Perhaps your uncle intended to wait until you were of age. Perhaps Blunt was desperate and simply seized the opportunity.”

Alex set his jaw and glared out the window. God, how he’d love to believe that. How he’d love to believe that Ian-- enthusiastic, friendly, fun Ian-- had simply meant everything as a bit of adventure. That he merely wanted to give Alex options later in life. Alex couldn’t swallow it, though. His childhood was too… consistent. Alex’s “training” made up almost all of his memories of the man. Why else would it be so prominent between them if not on purpose? 

Another flicker of angry despair. If Ian had simply been obsessive about his job and tried to combine maintaining his own skill set with spending time with his nephew, maybe Alex could buy it. 

With a sudden, dark clarity, he knew it wasn’t that. It had never really been optional, had it? Looking back, Ian had never really approved of him wanting outside hobbies or allowed him to let go of the ones he’d picked for him. One of his last and worst memories of the man was shortly before he’d died, when he forced Alex to drop football as it conflicted with his karate schedule. Maybe it was a teenage moment of rebellion, but Alex had uncharacteristically refused his uncle’s wishes: he liked football more than karate. They’d shouted at one another: a rarity. Alex left the encounter feeling as though he’d been selfish; the memory still summoned a little bubble of shame. Karate stayed and football was dropped, at least until the next season when the coach switched practice times for his own reasons. 

Ian’s insistence on Alex’s hobbies hadn’t been about keeping him active or showing him some neat skills, it had been about training him for what Ian wanted him to become. 

After that incident at the ski slopes in Gunpoint, Colorado, Alex had felt something change in his uncle, some sense that the man had finally reached some unspoken goal. It had made Alex happy at the time, actually. Ian was just so approving of him after that. He’d paid lip service to Alex disregarding his safety, but he’d also done everything he could to reinforce the choice. Praised his courage. His skill. Bought him a new set of skis. 

Another tendril of doubt flickered to life in the pit of his stomach. That whole mess had been awfully convenient. Not being able to find Ian when Sahara had sent him for help. The skis Ian had forced him to wear being optimal for his stint down the mountain. The fact that they’d practiced tree-skiing to begin with. Ian showing up at just the right moment--

Stop. Don’t think about it.

Folding his arms, Alex stared at his lap in silence. He wanted so badly to believe Ian had cared about what Alex had wanted, had intended for him to grow up first before he was thrust into danger, that he had wanted it to be a choice. But now? Now he couldn’t be sure of anything. He couldn’t even be sure if his fun loving uncle had done this to him because he hadn’t stopped to think about what it actually amounted to or because he was crossing off items on some checklist with Alan Blunt. 

Christ.

“Alex?” Yassen asked him. 

“It’s fine,” Alex bit out. He continued glaring out the window at the night sky above, watching the silhouettes of trees flicker by. “We’ll finish talking about my missions tomorrow.”

Silence reigned in the car for a good five minutes. 

Eventually, Yassen broke it. “What are you thinking?”

Alex didn’t look at him. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Why?”

“Because now I’m angry too.”

Another short silence. “At who?”

“Everyone.”

It was true. Fury coiled so deeply through him he could barely contain it in his body. He was grateful it was night: had the sun risen, he would have been unsurprised if this cold rage brewing in his stomach was strong enough to blot it out. He was angry at MI6. At Alan Blunt. At Ian. But most of all, he was angry at himself. Before he ever set foot in Royal and General Bank, they’d had a plan all laid out for him. And he’d done exactly what they wanted. 

Every. Time.

The stupid fucking pictures. Alex felt bitter tears prick his eyes. Those stupid fucking pictures had done it. Had convinced him that even though Ian was distant and didn’t seem to be terribly interested in Alex as a whole, that he’d loved Alex nonetheless. That it had been Alex who, despite always looking, had missed the signs. Seeing his own smiling, six-year-old face on that desk had made him feel so much in that instant: grief, love, and a little niggle of shame that he didn’t cry when Ian was gone. Ian loved him so much and Alex was just so ungrateful, wasn’t he? Complaining about karate. It hadn’t been enough to get him to agree to go on the mission in the first place, but it had been enough to make him want to stick it through in Cornwall. 

Now look at him: a broken spy only ten missions later, unable to stay sober long enough to evade danger. Maybe getting hooked on painkillers was the only reason MI6 had let him go. Too bad even that wasn’t an actual decision Alex had made.

He’d never had a choice. He’d never had a chance.

Yassen drove in silence for the rest of the night. If Alex hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own despair, he might have been grateful for the break. It had been a long night. Without meaning to, his glare slid shut as his frazzled mind ebbed into the escape of sleep. Yassen drove on.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, everyone! Another lengthy chapter, but for the sake of coherency I felt that longer was better. ^^

Yassen inhaled sharply and sat up, on high alert. It took him a split second to recognize the interior of their motel room, with its scratchy crocheted bedspreads and baby-food colored walls. They hadn’t reached the state border until close to dawn. Exhausted, Yassen had been determined to cross into Georgia before he stopped, no matter how tempting the thought of a good night’s sleep was as motel after motel crept by. They could afford to move at a more sedate pace from this point onwards, appropriately far from the search for the missing cruise ship passengers.

He glanced at the clock. About a half hour until noon. 

Yassen almost couldn’t believe it. Had he really slept for five entire hours? It was ludicrous. It was insane. Had his health really begun to fail him so badly?

Alex was slumped on his side, curled up on the second twin bed and facing away from him. Yassen rose, but didn’t bother him. A lot of painful memories had been stirred from their resting places and the assassin’s insights made them even more unpleasant. Yassen still wasn't sure he’d done the correct thing by sharing his thoughts, but that was beside the point. He had told him. It hadn’t gone over particularly well, but it was up to Alex to make of it what he wanted. 

At least the night had given Yassen an opportunity to understand what Alex had been up against. Frankly, he was astounded that the boy didn’t have more emotional problems, given the terrifying frequency in which he’d had to fight for his life in increasingly bizarre encounters with various flavors of terrorist. 

Yassen never expected to be grateful for Sharkovski. At least the traumas he’d subjected him to as a teenager had been relatively spaced out after that first week.

Many of the boy’s anxieties made sense now, though they still hadn’t reached the main events behind the bulk of his hallucinations. Despite how much valuable information he could learn about Scorpia’s most recent encounters with Alex, he found himself dreading the actual conversation. Alex had gotten progressively more stressed as he had to explain his history; Yassen’s own reactions had only worsened that. 

He groaned softly. He really needed to get his emotions under control. Getting angry at MI6 and the way Alex had been manipulated would do neither of them any good now. Yassen needed to focus on the future; untangling Alex’s past was an important part of planning for it.

Grabbed his bag from beside the bed, careful to stay quiet. He showered quickly and went about the rest of his morning rituals. Well, afternoon rituals, at this point. Part of him missed his prison routines, even though his years of training meant he understood the dangers of becoming predictable. Still. It had been unavoidable in prison and Alex had thrived when he’d known what to expect from each passing day. 

Yassen grimaced around the bristles of his toothbrush. He remembered his conversation with Alex on the cruise ship perfectly well and had no desire to play the ‘why’ game again. Even so, explaining himself was something he wasn’t certain he could do long term. Sharing his theory last night alone had taken more than he wanted to give. His stomach clenched at the mere idea of a repeat performance. Perhaps if Yassen managed to re-establish some sense of routine, maybe like the one they’d had in prison, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t tell him every little thing. Alex might be able to form enough expectations that the rest would become details.

He didn’t hear any movement in the other room as he paused mid-flossing to listen. Alex had slept for a good portion of their drive, and the lack of noise in the other room suggested he intended to continue that trend now. Making up for lost time on the cruise ship, perhaps. Hopefully, he’d sleep for another few hours. The Russian might have a chance to squeeze in a workout before he had to assess Alex’s mental condition for the day. 

Yassen studied the pale blonde stubble that had erupted across his face. As much as he itched to shave it off, it wouldn’t serve his purposes. By tomorrow or the next day, it would be long enough to dye and he could finish the job of restructuring his face to more closely resemble Alex’s. It would be a pain to have to touch up, but without new identities, they would need every edge they could get. 

Tucking everything neatly back into his bag, Yassen paused. Something wasn’t right. 

On casual inspection, the order of items seemed correct…. His eyes zeroed in on the orange bottles half concealed behind a t-shirt. Snatching them up, he turned them slowly in his hand and swore. 

At least five pills were missing. Three percocet. Two xanax. 

Nearly an entire day’s worth.

“Alex,” he snapped, storming into the room. He threw the pill bottles onto his bed and rounded on the boy, preparing for the inevitable objections. Yes, Yassen had slept longer than he meant to. Yes, Alex needed the medication to cope with his withdrawal. No, that didn’t mean that Alex shouldn’t wake him for more before resorting to stealing them out of Yassen’s bag. 

Alex still lay curled facing the wall. After a long second, he let out a little hum.

Fear shot through Yassen like a thunderbolt. He hurried to the side of the bed, turning Alex onto his back. The boy’s head lolled. Yassen grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to force him to sit up. “Alex. Wake up.”

Hazy eyes cracked open slowly before focusing on him. Alex’s pupils were tiny pinpricks. He took a deep, sleepy breath before he scrubbed at his face and smiled vaguely up at Yassen. “Did I fall asleep?”

Yassen halted, disgust and unease warring within him. “You’re high.”

“Little bit,” Alex said, giggling as he drew his legs underneath him. Slowly shifted until he was sitting against the headboard. It seemed to take a lot of coordination for such a small motion. He reconsidered and grinned. “Okay, you caught me. A lot a bit.”

Yassen sat back on the bed, jaw tightening. “Do you even know where you are right now?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s safe and warm and I feel fine.” The boy hummed again before seemingly looking at Yassen’s face properly for the first time. He leaned forward and grabbed Yassen around the shoulders, half collapsing onto him. “Don’t be mad, Yassen. It’s fine. Julius doesn’t matter anymore. Everything’s fine now.” Alex propped his head on Yassen’s shoulder and looked up at him. “Don’t be mad,” he repeated.

Yassen stared down at him. “I’m not.”

Truthfully, Yassen felt a lot of things now, sitting there stiffly in Alex’s limp hug (and it took him a moment to recognize that for what it was). Frustration. Disappointment. Regret. Exhaustion. Mostly, though, Yassen felt profoundly helpless. 

It was fast becoming a familiar sensation. He really wasn’t equipped to help Alex with his many, many problems be they medical, emotional, or whatever nightmarish in-between his opioid abuse fell under. 

Everything had seemed so straightforward when he’d found out about the injections. He’d known exactly what he had to do: get Alex out of prison, evade the authorities, and wait for the boy’s medical issues to subside. Once that was resolved, all Yassen had to do was get him back in school and make sure he ate regularly. All of those were things Yassen could deal with. Problems he could solve. When he’d accepted that he cared about what happened to the brat, he hadn’t foreseen any of this-- the worsening hallucinations, the fiasco of withdrawal, the constant feeling of personal entanglement, not to mention the blindsiding nature of how advanced Alex’s drug seeking had become in such a short time. Perhaps the signs had been there all along and Yassen had been too close to the situation to interpret them. That didn’t change the fact that Yassen had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do about any of it now. Yet here he was, the only person the little spy had in his life to try. 

They were both doomed. 

“Good,” Alex said, dazedly upbeat and talking into Yassen’s clavicle. “Cause it’s okay, Yassen. It’s an okay day now.”

Right. Alex and his ever-elusive okay days.

It was almost as though the myriad of emotions short circuited some sort of critical programming in Yassen’s brain, powering down everything and leaving him with only a sort of irritated resignation. Annoyed acceptance? No, ‘exasperation’ was probably the correct English translation. Sighing, the contract killer patted Alex on the back, half wishing a bottle of vodka would appear out of thin air. A drink would be nice right about now. “Okay,” he said absently.

“Okay!” came the enthused response.

“Glad we settled that,” Yassen muttered. 

How did this keep surprising him? This was his life now. Yassen’s lack of enthusiasm had no bearing on the speed at which things moved; Alex’s bizarre problems evolved faster than a bankrupt client’s excuses to Scorpia for non-payment. A week ago, Alex had been begging Yassen to kill him or the ghost of Julius Grief. Now he was all prescription-grade giggles and Percocet cuddles. The whiplash was jarring, but at least Alex’s mindless affection was easier to deal with than his startled karate. 

“What’s wrong with your face?” Alex asked him, touching his cheek. “You have a beard now?”

Yassen had dealt with worse, he reminded himself as he forcibly removed the boy’s hand. It only felt like Alex would be the death of him. 

He’d had crazier clients before. Cray, for one. This was only so exhausting because Hunter’s stupid orphan was good at activating Yassen’s emotions and he still wasn’t used to it. Somehow it had gotten personal enough that Alex’s survival felt intertwined with his own. Somehow not optional. Otherwise, this was like any other job, albeit one he’d never be paid for. He might not be able to fix everything, but he could keep them both alive. 

Probably.

He shook his head, looking down at the teen. “What am I going to do with you, little Alex?” he mused, his tone still containing a plaintive note he didn’t like. 

Alex’s eyes were sliding shut again and he mumbled, “‘m sleepy. Take a nap?”

It could be worse, Yassen decided. Tried to believe it. He grabbed Alex by the bony shoulders and deposited him back onto the bed. “Yes. Do that.”

Alex mumbled something, before clamping his arms around his pillow and settling down. His eyes half shut, but he didn’t seem to entirely lose consciousness.

Yassen spent the rest of his afternoon diligently completing whatever tasks he could think of. He worked out for two hours. He dug out another burner phone and tried to contact his man in Las Vegas. Smoked three cigarettes in a row before he forced himself to stop. Double checked the cash in his wallet. He studied the map and planned out a few different routes based around various contingencies. Talked himself out of running across the street to the liquor store. He scouted out the motel parking lot, considering whether or not to steal another car. Scoured his memory for everything in Dr. Wood’s note. 

Alex not-quite-napped straight into the late afternoon. Having already resigned himself to spending another night at the motel, Yassen waited until Alex groggily sat up around five before even considering trying to speak to him. Alex staggered into the bathroom, sans his bag. Yassen was about to say something about it when he heard the unmistakable sound of retching. 

Grimacing, Yassen took a moment to be grateful that he didn’t have a weak stomach. A day with Alex had a 50/50 chance of involving vomit. Standing, he leaned in the open doorway as Alex slumped to the side of the porcelain to curl up on the floor. “Are you lucid?”

“Where am I?”

“The motel.”

“Oh.” A small pause. “In Miami?”

Yassen sighed and returned with Alex’s bag. He dropped it just out of reach. “Take a shower if you sober up in the next ten minutes. I’ll be back.”

The town they’d decided to stop in was hardly larger than a rest stop. Apart from the motel and gas station, only a handful of other businesses seemed to bother setting up shop this side of the highway. Yassen crossed the street and followed it down a block to a small burger joint across from an even tinier convenience store. The diner by the gas station would probably be healthier, but Yassen wanted to be in and out in under ten minutes. Besides, it was hardly as though Alex would eat anything remotely good for him anyway.

The handpainted sign in the burger place window caught his eye: best shakes in the state! 

Yassen snorted quietly to himself. At least he could count on Alex to eat his damn dessert. He paused, considering. Making up his mind, he took a quick detour into the convenience store.

 

Alex had evidently managed to drag himself into the shower by the time Yassen got back. Listening to the water run, Yassen grimaced as he set down the grease-spotted paper bag on the small wood table that had been shoved against the wall beside the room’s mini-fridge. Two greasy meals for them both, only instead of a coke, he’d gotten Alex a strawberry milkshake. 

Mindful of the sound of the sound of the shower, Yassen dug into his jacket pocket for his two convenience store purchases. First, he unscrewed the bottle of the strawberry-flavored meal supplement shake and used the straw to stir it into the glorified-frozen-sugar-milk Alex was so fond of. With any luck, the cloying artificial taste of one would conceal the other. Next he considered the Flintstone vitamins he’d grabbed as an afterthought. Considered picking out the red ones and crushing them up, but decided against it. If they failed to dissolve properly, Alex would be onto the ruse. That had been the only difficulty he’d encountered when he’d similarly poisoned a French diplomat at a banquet almost a decade ago and the caution stuck with him even now.

God. Yassen let out a deep exhale as he disposed of the evidence of his deceit. Mere hours ago he’d been forlornly wishing his skills as a world-class assassin overlapped more with childcare. He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Well, he’d gotten his wish, only somehow it felt incredibly stupid.

The door clicked opened behind him. He felt the steam whisper out through the doorway as Alex stepped out, grumbling about faucets and temperatures.

“You awake this time?” Yassen asked without turning around.

“Mostly.” Alex padded over to his side, unnaturally dark hair dripping onto the shoulders of his sweater. Despite the moderate weather, Alex seemed adverse to even the suggestion of a chill. To be fair, he didn’t seem to possess so much as an ounce of excess body fat anymore. “Did you bring food?”

Yassen handed him a foil wrapped burger and a carton of sweet potato fries. “Think you can eat?”

“I’m starving.” Alex pulled out one of the small stools shoved beneath the table and sat, tearing open the foil and taking a massive bite. He blinked and reached for the shake. “Mine?”

“That’s right.”

Yassen watched Alex chew slowly. The teen forgot a handful of times what he was doing but overall was a lot more responsive than before. His intoxicated cheer had dimmed, but he otherwise seemed stable. The assassin swallowed the urge to say something scathing and instead started on his own food. He’d already considered the matter quite carefully while the boy had either been sleeping or simply too high for it to matter if he wasn’t. 

Alex was addicted, regardless of his insistence otherwise. 

It was an unfortunate combination with his resourcefulness, but short of handcuffing the boy to his side, it was impractical to try and prevent Alex from getting his fix. While addiction wasn’t remotely foreign to Yassen’s line of work, it wasn’t something he had direct experience resolving. Well, outside of his personal habit of executing any employees dumb enough to work intoxicated. There was nothing Yassen could do except manage the boy’s behavior and ensure he didn’t overdose. While the problem had obvious serious implications long term, it wasn’t nearly as likely to kill either of them as much as getting caught by Scorpia would. While Yassen now intended to keep Alex’s medication on his person at all times, he knew better than to withhold it or detox Alex himself. Rehab and some kind of intensive therapy could simply be added to his growing list of things to arrange once he they had their identities. For now, Yassen needed to focus on keeping the brat alive and on the move, if not entirely sober.

Said brat dragged a hand through his hair and glanced at Yassen. “More driving tonight?”

Yassen shook his head. “Tomorrow. We might as well keep our travel patterns erratic.”

“Right.” Alex stared down at the bright red straw of his milkshake. He’d managed a few sips and so far, didn’t seem to realize it had been spiked with anything other than high fructose corn syrup. “So…. I know I shouldn’t have taken the pills without waking you.”

Yassen shrugged and said nothing. 

“Sorry.”

Again, Yassen elected silence to speak for him. 

Alex glanced up at him, clearly expecting some sort of recrimination and uneasy when he found none. “Say something, Yassen. Get mad at me.”

“If I recall correctly, you urged me not to.”

Alex flushed. “I was high, alright? Now I’m not. I went through your stuff and stole extra pills. Surely there’s something you want to say about that?”

Yassen shook his head, already tired of the conversation. “That seems rather pointless. I’ll just have to keep a better eye on the tablets.”

He might as well have splashed him in the face with a glass of water for all that did to rile Alex up. The stool clattered to the ground as he leaned over the table to get in Yassen’s face. “Don’t say that! Come on. We both know you have a temper, so fucking find it and give me shit for screwing up.”

Yassen let Alex invade his personal space without so much as a twitch. Stared into furious, anxious brown eyes with his own calm ones. “No.”

“Stop it,” Alex snarled. “Stop with this quiet disappointment bullshit. I hate it!” He knocked his carton of fries off the table, sending them scattered to the carpet. The failure of his childish escalation to get a rise out of Yassen seemed to triple his frustration. “Get mad at me! If you don’t, it means you don’t think I can do any better.”

“Maybe you can’t.”

Alex’s wild punch to Yassen’s head was so clearly telegraphed it was practically effortless to dodge. Yassen’s own stool hit the ground as he stepped back just far enough to grab Alex’s wrist. Instead of pitching forward with his momentum, Alex managed to correct his balance and slam his other fist into Yassen’s stomach. 

It hurt just enough to finally shake loose the fury Alex had demanded. He twisted the boy’s arm behind him and slammed him face first into the table, taking savage delight in the sound of his skull impacting the wood a split second before his brain caught up with the poor wisdom in risking another head injury. Ah, well. It was already done. He pinned him there and snapped, “Maybe you can’t. Maybe you’re just a drug addict. Maybe its a waste of my time to argue the point.”

Alex stilled. For a split second, Yassen worried that Alex had ceased to breathe. “Fine.”

“Fine? It’s fine now? What--” He forced himself before he could finish demanding what the hell was wrong with the boy. “Stop acting like an idiot. All of this pointless lashing out and baiting me and getting high. Don’t you realize that you have zero chance of taking control of your life, the life you resent MI6 for taking over, if you don’t get yourself under control?”

Alex laughed and aimed a kick at him. Yassen took the opportunity to release him and step back. “Like I’m able to do anything about my life right now. You’re the one making all of the decisions.”

“Because you won’t or can’t. Perhaps I’ve erred on the side of optimism by assuming it’s the former.” Yassen folded his arms to prevent himself from grabbing the boy and shaking him. He didn’t want that to become a habit. His temper really had been getting the better of him; hearing Alex mention it only made it worse. He switched tactics. “I know it’s hard. I know the hallucinations are stressful. I know that when you’re sober, you are so miserable you can’t stand it. It’s unpleasant, but you have to at least try to suck it up and make your own decisions about the future. If you can’t, I will, so you don’t have to.”

Alex whipped around and sneered. “You don’t know anything. You have no idea what this is like.”

Yassen didn’t even bother trying to roll his eyes discreetly. “Sobachye. Suffering is nothing new and it is certainly not unique to you.”

“Really? That’s what this is? You think I’m afraid of suffering?” Alex’s jaw clenched. He snorted and shook his head, fingers digging into his arms. “When Jack was murdered, I cried so hard that I blacked out and that wasn’t as hard to deal with as just being alive now. I can deal with the hallucinations and being scared all of the time. I can deal with my body fucking failing me at fifteen. What’s unbearable is that I can’t even wrap my head around who I am, so what’s the point in sticking it out?”

Yassen stared at him. “How did this become an identity thing?”

“My whole life I’ve been someone else’s Alex and never knew it. Every time I look back on my past missions or my childhood all I see are choices I can't be sure I made! Painful ones! How much of my life has been spent as a super-spy-boy action figure in someone else’s game? As fucking infuriating as it is to think that I was basically an avatar for someone’s else's play-through of my life, I can’t even be that Alex anymore. I’d still hate to be him, but at least I would be good for something. I can’t even save myself much less the fucking planet anymore. I’m too tired or too nauseous or too sad or busy running from crocodiles. I don’t know anything and I can’t do anything.”

Yassen held up a hand. “So focus on your future.”

“What future? Some vague plan to go to school in Russia? It’s not real. I can’t even imagine it.” Alex buried his fingers in his hair and yanked, hard. Yassen was tempted to wince just watching him. “Do you know what it’s like to not even be able to trust your happy memories? To wonder how much of it was built on lies?”

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose and stared down at the floor. “Yes. I do.”

Some of the anger seemed to drain from Alex. He looked even younger than usual. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Yassen dropped his hand. Why did Alex only respond to personal stuff? It was a risk and he outright hated the idea, but it looked like he was going to have to share. Again. “When I was a little younger than you, the fertilizer factory in my village turned out to be a bioweapons research lab. My parents showed up at home one day, shot half dead, just in time to stab me with the only anthrax vaccination they could steal before the military showed up and wiped my village off the map.” Yassen shook his head and looked off to the side of the boy. “I thought I was going to grow up to make pesticides on a factory line just like them. The parents I thought I knew weren’t real.”

“At least you knew they loved you. I don’t even have that anymore,” Alex said quietly. He shook his head. “So what did you do?”

Yassen grimaced. He knew damn well that he’d opened this can of worms himself but he didn’t have to like it. “What do you mean?”

“Your life was a lie and then it all got destroyed. What did you do about it?” Alex looked at him, eyes tired and a little bit empty. “What am I supposed to do?”

Yassen hesitated. There was little instruction or inspiration to be had by answering truthfully that he’d been kidnapped and enslaved by one of the men who’d ordered the strike. Becoming an assassin had provided him with distraction, not purpose. His aimless existence now was proof of that. “I kept going. Stayed busy.”

Alex studied him for a stretch. “Did it work?”

“It’s not about working. It’s about not giving up,” Yassen told him at length. He gestured wearily at Alex’s mostly untouched burger. “Finish up. I want to get back on the road.”

Alex hesitated. “I thought you said we were staying another night.”

“I changed my mind.” Yassen glanced out the window, noting the dwindling evening light. Stealing a car would be easier in the dark, given the lack of enclosed parking. He looked back at Alex, who hadn’t budged. The boy’s forehead was beginning to bruise where it had impacted the table. Ruefully, he tugged his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and left the room without saying anything else.

  
  
  



	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise extra chapter today! Feel free to thank galimau. ^^

Alex watched Yassen in the reflection of his window, pretending to be absorbed in the landscape rushing past them. It wasn’t as if he could really see it anyway, given how dark it had gotten. Occasionally, Alex saw lights as they flitted past a town or two, but other than that, there was little to distract him from his thoughts or the hollow in the pit of his stomach.

He really had to leave Yassen. Soon.

Alex unhappily pressed his hand to his forehead. His splitting headache had only grown the longer he’d gone without saying anything and he was starting to feel feverish again. They’d been driving for about four hours. Withdrawal symptoms pending, Alex still couldn’t bring himself to ask Yassen for more Percocet, no matter how much he was dying to. Whether it was stubbornness or shame that kept him quiet, Alex couldn’t quite tell and wasn’t certain he wanted to know anyway.

Besides, he had to start getting used to the idea of not having Yassen around to get him the drugs he needed. Soon he would have to provide for himself or turn himself in or… 

Well, Alex wasn’t ready to entirely discount his final option of ceasing to exist, but he wasn’t going to commit to it either. He’d love to have a reason to keep going, but if he didn’t find one, at least suicide would solve his immediate problem of being such a burden.

Yassen would be happier without him, regardless of what Alex chose afterwards. Even though the man rarely complained, in the heat of a fight, his resentment leaked through the cracks. God, why was he still even bothering? Alex was awful. When he wasn’t actively preventing the man from sleeping, he was rifling through his bag for a fix. When he wasn’t hallucinating wildly, he was having weird hang ups over hair and picking fights about why Yassen wasn’t a bigger asshole to him. Even when things were quiet, Yassen had to spend time and energy making sure Alex wasn’t about to freak out. 

Whatever Yassen was getting out of this probably wasn’t even worth it, he just hadn’t figured that out yet because he didn’t know what “it” was. Alex really didn’t want to stick around for when Yassen realized that dumping all this effort into him would only result in more disappointment. 

He leaned his aching forehead on the cold glass of the window. The new car Yassen had returned with was nicer than the last. It was sleek and black and only a couple of years old, with a powerful engine that purred near silently under the hood. The seats were comfier too. He had no idea where he’d gotten the keys to it and realized he didn’t want to know. It was probably stolen.

Yassen turned to him. “Pills wear off yet?”

Reluctantly, Alex nodded. He wasn’t going to ask, but he wasn't going to lie either. He took the proffered tablets and swallowed them. They caught in his throat, so Alex had to force them down with the help of his milkshake. 

Yassen had already returned to business as usual. That was probably a good thing. 

If Alex played along, Yassen might relax and then Alex could find a quiet moment to slip away. But where? Yassen stuck to the smaller state highways rather than the interstate freeways Alex was more familiar with from his time in America. The towns they stopped in for gas and food were small but used to seeing travelers. They didn’t necessarily stand out, but there were few places that Alex could slip away in a crowd or catch a train. If he tried, Yassen would find him in minutes and then he’d have to explain himself. 

How could Alex even begin to persuade him to risk discovery in a bigger city?

“Since we’re going to Las Vegas,” Alex said aloud. “We should go see the Grand Canyon. I’ve never been before. It’s on the way, isn’t it?” 

And full of tourists and tour buses, he declined to add.

Yassen glanced at him, eyebrows twitching just enough that Alex knew he’d surprised the man by speaking. “It’s a few hours out of the way.” A quick, strange pause. “Maybe after.”

It struck him suddenly: Yassen was conceding to try to make him happy. He felt even worse. Christ. He really had to leave soon, before Yassen wasted more time and energy on him.

Alex chewed on that, before another thought occurred to him. One that wouldn’t directly conflict with Yassen’s desire to focus on keeping them safe. “Okay. Briar said it was really great. She’s from Scottsdale, Arizona so she used to go all the time before she transferred to Gibraltar.” He waited another beat, as though the thought was evolving organically in his head. “Do you think we should visit her? Her note was really vague. We might be able to ask her to explain it better or at least tell us how she found out about all that stuff.”

Yassen hesitated. “I’d like to know more, but she’s in Gibraltar. Even if we had a way to contact her, the risk would be too great. As lax as she was with her obligations, she still works for MI6 even if she’s technically employed by the CIA, Alex. Smuggling you information isn’t the same as endorsing our escape.”

Alex shook his head. “Oh, I never told you, did I? She got fired trying to help us. Well, I never asked but she whispered to me that I had to get the note to you while they were escorting her out with her things. Used your real name. She was also carrying a bunch of office stuff in a box. I assumed the two were related. She hated MI6. I mean, she wasn’t a subtle person, so it came up a lot in therapy, but I also overheard a bunch of conversations she had with Scalia and the warden with my iPod. They were really mad about my lack of medical treatment and how much MI6 was giving them the runaround. Anyway, I don’t think she’d tell anyone if she saw us. Why would she give us a warning about my withdrawal if she wanted us to stay in prison?”

“You didn’t think to mention this before?” Yassen stiffened in his seat. “So you knew there was something wrong with the injections and did nothing with that information.”

“We couldn’t talk, Yassen.” Alex squirmed, fidgeting with the cord of his jacket’s hood. “I thought I was dead and being punished. What would be a better punishment than making me think MI6 was doing something shady like always? I thought it was some little mystery designed to make me curious and miserable and that I’d never get to solve.”

Yassen fell silent. Alex was starting to believe he’d left the conversation completely when he spoke. “It’s not the worst idea. We are missing a lot of details. I doubt it’s feasible, however. I don’t have the resources to track her down at the moment. Even if we know which city she lived in, we don’t know if she’d return there after being fired, much less how to find--”

“She lives with her perpetually single Mormon sister in the house that their bi-polar mother left to them when she died two years ago. Even if she hates the fact that her sister loves to decorate with paisley and tries to convince her to go to church and stop drinking, it’s too cheap to actually move out even if she does like the apartments they built ten minutes away, next to the cute new mall, better. Her address is 42 Wallaby way, which she both hates and thinks is funny because it’s the same address as the dentist from Finding Nemo and a bunch of local kids like to put clown fish stickers all over their mailbox but even though it's adorable so far as pranks go, they’re hard to get off without making it look ghetto.” Alex paused to take a breath and rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back against his headrest. “She was so chatty. Bloody hell. Did she keep pausing the episode to talk during your sessions too?”

Yassen stared at him. “No.”

“Oh. Guess it was just me.” Alex looked back out the window. He returned his gaze to Yassen. “So do you think we should go see her?”

“Perhaps.”

Alex folded his arms and went back to staring blankly at the darkness beyond the glass. Well, at least Yassen was thinking about the idea. If he didn’t go for it, Alex would just have to find another opportunity to slip away. He’d thought about stealing the car or doing something to delay Yassen’s pursuit of him, but there was no scenario Alex could envision that wouldn’t put Yassen at risk if Scorpia caught up to them. Even if the man could probably figure something out, Alex didn’t want to be that much more of a hindrance. The point was to stop ruining Yassen’s life after all. 

O

Yassen waited another forty-five minutes before broaching the topic of Alex’s remaining missions. The information wasn’t optional anymore. Alex’s suggestion that they go to the Grand Canyon or visit Dr. Wood seemed to indicate that he was open to talking, but it was also relatively soon after a temper tantrum that had ended physically. Whose temper tantrum remained depressingly nebulous in his mind. Either way, he decided to give the Xanax plenty of time to kick in before probing.

“So you met up with Ash at the airport. What happened after that?”

Alex bit his lip. After a minute, he sighed and shoved a lock of hair out of his face. “Well, we boarded the plane and he finally made good on his promise to tell me about my parents. Ian hated discussing them, so all he’d told me before then was that my dad was former military and worked in insurance and that my mother was a nurse. Ash admitted Dad was a spy and told me a bit about how they used to play squash before he married Mum. He didn’t know that much about her, to tell the truth. Just that she liked reading and foreign films. Anyway, she had just gotten pregnant with me when Dad got sent out on that deep cover job in Scorpia. Ash was his backup, so he shadowed him leading up to Dad’s capture in Malta. I was close to being born, so Dad wanted to hurry back and move us all to France or something. Anyway, he was telling me about Malta and mentioned-- well, to be honest, got totally derailed-- talking about you.”

Yassen actually twisted in his seat to stare at him. “Why?”

“You stabbed him in the stomach and ruined his career,” Alex told him matter of factly. “He was obsessed with hating you. Dug up everything he could find that even remotely had your name attached to it.”

The Russian raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Alex shrugged. “You come from a place called Estrov, which had some kind of bio-chemical warfare facility that was of interest to MI6. The whole place blew up-- he didn’t say anything about the military, by the way-- and that your dad died during it and your mother six months later.”

“Six months later?” Yassen stared at the road without seeing it. 

He supposed it was possible. If he were in the military’s place, he would have tried to keep a hold of anyone who could be questioned about the inner workings of the facility. They might have taken her into custody before destroying the area where their house had been. 

It didn’t matter, of course, whether she had died in the explosion or of anthrax. But how could she have survived for six months? Leo had lasted less than two days. Maybe they had gotten her treatment. Or she never survived and the information was false.

It didn’t matter, he reminded himself again. The knot in his stomach disagreed.

Alex hesitated. “That’s what he said. He also said that no one really knew what happened so…”

“Doesn’t matter.” Yassen felt his lips thin. “What else did he dig up?”

“He said you crossed all of Russia by yourself somehow and turned up in Moscow, living on the streets and running errands for the Mafiya. He couldn’t find anything else on you until you turned up in Malagosto. Everything else he said was mostly about how much Dad liked you. He seemed pretty bitter about it.” Alex paused and chanced a glance at him. “So how much did he get right?”

Yassen had no desire to get into it. He gave a diffident hum and muttered, “Half, if I’m being generous. Did he ever get back to talking about Malta?”

“Yeah. You and Dad were all set to kill some guy who lived in Mdina that MI6 didn’t care for. The plan was to grab Dad and let you get away.” Alex wiggled in his seat, wincing as his back popped. Yassen made a mental note to remind him to stretch the next time they stopped for fuel. “They couldn’t use blanks, apparently. Said you were smart enough to tell the difference. Anyways, you both showed up and you shot Ash. He was wearing armor and went down, but got back up even though he wasn’t supposed to. You killed the three agents who went after you.”

Yassen remembered that night. The cold, crisp air. The clock towers. His own reckless abandon as he slipped in and out of combat, only a few weeks into killing and drunk on the strange, spiteful anger fueling his decision to become an assassin to get back at John; juxtaposed against how much Yassen really did love his dearest friend. His sorrow that things would inevitably end in some kind of betrayal. He had avoided thinking about it until he was nearly John’s age. By then the memory had cooled, taking the worst of the bite out of Yassen’s memory of his own despair.

Alex went on. “He went after you, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Dropped his body armor to run faster. You snuck up on him, though. Stabbed him in the stomach instead of shooting him.” The boy rubbed his hands together and stared out of the window. “He lost parts of his stomach because of that. Spent the rest of his life on pain pills, not able to eat much. Got demoted to a desk job. Blunt said it was his fault you shot the other agents in the head-- because you had seen him get up and knew they must be wearing body armor.”

Yassen nodded. “I think I remember him now. Blunt was right. Malta was actually the reason I switched to head and neck shots as a general rule.”

Alex sighed. “Yeah, I figured. Anyway, he told me about how Scorpia found out about my dad anyway and how they blew up the plane. I had an ear infection so I stayed in England. They were going to France to find a house for us, so it wasn’t important I go with right away.” Alex stared at his hands. “He didn’t want to talk about it, probably because he was the one who planted the bomb. Anyway, he left MI6 for ASIS. Even though he was my godfather, I don’t really remember him. He wasn’t around much. Ian had already started to adopt me by the time he was ready to leave. They had a drink and--”

Yassen turned to look at the now silent boy, staring at the dash as though it contained a bomb he was tasked with defusing. “What’s the matter?”

Alex shook his head slowly and swallowed. “It’s just-- I never noticed before. I guess--” he broke off. “It’s hard to know what to think. When Ash told me about having a drink with Ian, he talked about how much better off I was with my uncle and how I didn’t need him. I didn’t think anything of it when he told me. Ian loved me, right? Of course I went to live with him instead.” He broke off and began nibbling on one of his already bitten down nails. “Looking back, I didn’t really fit into my uncle’s life and I assumed it was because he never planned on having kids. But Ash seemed to think otherwise. Now when I think of him talking about that drink, I can’t tell if those were Ash’s thoughts or Ian’s convincing him to stay away. If he and Blunt had plans for me even then. Ash definitely didn’t want me going on missions at fourteen and tried to talk me out of it. He might have put a stop to it if he’d stuck around.”

Yassen couldn’t think of anything to say to that. It was entirely possible it was as Alex suspected. The boy looked so miserable, though. Looking out the window to conceal his wince, Yassen almost regretted telling the boy his own suspicions. Almost. Nothing good had ever come of not knowing the controlling factors in your situation, at least in Yassen’s experience. Or had it? His parents had spared him the truth. Perhaps his childhood was improved for his ignorance of the danger they faced. Perhaps he had ruined what little Alex had left of his. 

Part of him doubted it, though. Alan Blunt had done that long before Yassen had laid eyes on the boy. “It’s possible.”

“You say that a lot,” Alex snapped.

Yassen shrugged. “I don’t know otherwise. It wouldn’t necessarily surprise me either way. Would you rather I lied about it?”

“No,” Alex sighed. “You’re the only person who doesn’t lie to me.”

Yassen waited a heartbeat or two, but it didn’t seem like Alex was going to keep describing the mission with Yu’s snakehead. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. “I’ve lied exactly twice to you.”

Alex jerked in his seat. “What? When?”

Yasen flicked on his turn signals and switched lanes. “I’ll tell you after you finish telling me about your missions.”

Alex scowled. “You’ve lied to me?”

“You know about one of them already,” Yassen allowed. “The other might surprise you.”

“What were they?”

“Mission, Alex. Tell me about Thailand.”

The boy folded his arms and glowered. “Fine, but you will tell me after. And not indefinitely after. Immediately after I finish, I want to know what they were.”

Yassen nodded. “Deal.”

Alex managed to cover his mission in Thailand in record time. He almost seemed immune to the terror and betrayals he recounted, rather than the far more detailed accounting of finding information about his parents seemed to warrant. He bounced from his silent role as Ash’s refugee child to his impromptu boxing match to his waterboarding at the hands of the CIA to his time in a shipping crate in under ten minutes. By the time he covered the organ farm, his escape via waterfall, and his return to the ship to defuse Yu’s bomb, he’d begun to show small signs of the emotional strain: a subtle shiver that Yassen couldn’t completely discount as shaking and an anxious twisting of his hands in his lap. Ash’s betrayal didn’t necessarily seem to bother him, apart from a slight bitter tinge to his tone as he described his death. 

Yassen hardly had time to really consider what Jones’ assurances that Scorpia had agreed not to target Alex had actually meant before the boy rounded on him. 

“What lies did you tell me?” he demanded. Despite finishing his account of his time in Thailand, he still seemed riled up. The contract killer had assumed it was the stress of the memory, but now he wondered if Alex was really that upset about the idea of Yassen lying to him. He supposed it made sense, given Alex’s completely warranted suspicion of all the adults in his life. “Just tell me.”

“After you tell me about your missions,” Yassen reminded him. “Plural.”

Alex crossed his arms. “Tell me one of them. I only have three, well, two and a half missions left. Tell me one now and the other after.”

Yassen tilted his head. “Very well. When you came up to me in prison and asked if we were dead but not supposed to talk about it, I said ‘sure’. Obviously, that was a lie.”

Alex huffed. “I knew that.” He paused, then corrected himself. “I know that.”

“As I told you.” Yassen waved a hand. “It still counts as a lie. I wished I hadn’t said it, too, when I realized how permanent that delusion seemed to be.”

Alex snorted. “I’d have believed anything then. I needed answers almost as much as I do now.” He went back to anxiously playing with his hands in his lap. “Anyway, the next mission was mostly my fault. I couldn’t let things lie and started poking around after someone tried to kill Sabina’s dad.” He glanced at Yassen for that. “Again. His name was Desmond McCain. We were at this New Years party in a castle and…”

Another rapid accounting followed. Yassen twitched a little, hearing of the journalist who wanted to expose Alex’s abuse but quickly got over his surprise over Alex’s plea for help to MI6. Alex had far bigger concerns. Allowing Bulman to have his day would have forced him to take the spotlight, while the odds that MI6 would have suffered permanent damage were low. After all, the biggest piece of evidence was Alex himself. Alex had already been receiving injections of A216 by then and MI6 had already been clearly waiting in the wings with their diagnosis of schizophrenia; it would have been easy to discredit the boy and kill the story before anything compromising could be proved. The rest of Alex’s mission seemed relatively straightforward, as he made a point of describing it clinically. 

Alex took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. Yassen gathered his as well. At the very least, now he knew where a few more of his hallucinations had come from: the crocodiles and the burning aviator fuel made far more sense. It seemed that Alex’s hallucinations were more potent the more recent the memory.

The boy gave him a look. “Tell me the other lie?”

“You still have a mission and a half, by my count,” Yassen told him.

Alex sighed. “What if I tell you the organizations I crossed and or was in contact with? I’ll finish after you tell me the lie.”

Yassen gave him a nonplussed look. “Is the suspense really that bad?”

“It’s important.” Alex watched him, eyes tightening as it became clear that Yassen wasn’t going to reveal his hand quite yet. He grimaced and began nibbling on his fingernail. “Fine. Just tell me this. Was it a big lie?”

“Depends.”

His eyes narrowed. “Will it make me angry?”

Yassen tilted his head. “I doubt it,” he said eventually. “But perhaps. It wasn’t a cruel lie, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Fine.” Alex watched him out of the corner of his eye. “My next mission dealt with Scorpia. I thought everything had been resolved after my last mission. I’d gone back to school. Had hobbies again. Then, out of nowhere, a sniper fired into my maths classroom….”

Yassen had to struggle a lot more to remain silent this time, first at the obvious MI6 setup to coerce Alex into cooperation, and second at the sheer magnitude of the Grief clone’s madness. Starbright’s death was clearly agonizing to speak of. Yassen understood the boy’s reluctance to speak about this mission, why he’d stalled or so long. It was clearly the most painful of them, though he seemed to take some solace in the regretful words of the gadget man, Smithers. At least someone showed concern for what had happened to Alex in more than words only, sneaking him gifts from time to time. 

The rest of Yassen’s thoughts were consumed by Scorpia. According to Alex, they should have been done for despite their last ditch efforts to recruit new blood. Facilities had been raided, key members arrested, including the majority of staff and students at Malagosto. No wonder their contractors were trying to bury themselves in the sand. Yet, somehow, they still had enough board members and key operatives in place to pursue Yassen and Alex. Beating the boy would no longer benefit them, not until they recouped enough losses to be able to justify making a point of their new strength. Killing Alex could symbolize a new start but to do so now would be ill-timed at best. 

How the hell did they have the resources to pursue Yassen? He stared at the steering wheel, mentally rifling through everything he knew. Contacts, contracts, account numbers. Deals, past and future, failed and succeeded. Betrayals. Alliances. If whatever remnants of Scorpia were making Yassen a priority, that meant that Yassen’s information had to make up the backbone of whatever resources they had left. 

They had no choice but to pursue him to the ends of the earth. He had to disappear.

Alex was staring at him. “Well? The other lie?”

Yassen inhaled and looked at him. “On the rooftop, with Sayle. When I told you that I had no orders regarding you. I lied.” Yassen returned his gaze to the road. “I was supposed to kill you and save him.”

Alex was quiet for a long minute. “But you did the opposite.”

Yassen shrugged, a little helplessly. “Sayle had become an embarrassment, so it was easy justifying his death. Yours… I just never mentioned seeing you. The perks of being a top contractor is that if you ignore orders one time, it's too risky to call you on it.”

Alex studied him. “Okay. And those are the only lies you’ve ever told me?”

“The only ones I know of.”

“Okay.” Alex returned to nibbling his nails. 

Yassen was nearly content to leave it there, but he knew it would be difficult to get the boy to talk about all of this again. He was grieving again, that much Yassen could tell. Ripping open these wounds stretched Alex’s emotions thin. Much as he wanted to deep-dive into his own analysis of Scorpia’s current state and their intentions for them both, he knew that the last part of Alex’s history would fill in the rest of the blanks. The wild hallucinations. The addiction. His imprisonment. “And your half mission?”

Alex squirmed. “It was in France. A school with an opiate ring. Connected to the Triads again, I think. I failed and got sent home after two months of nothing, so there’s no new groups who became aware of me.”

“You know that’s not what I’m getting at.”

Alex gave him a baleful look before jerking a sharp hand at the radio clock. “It’s nearly midnight. Can’t we pick this up tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t you rather get it over with now?” When the boy failed to reply, Yassen gave him a half nod. “If we finish this tonight, we’ll stop at the next motel we find and get some sleep.”

“I won’t be able to sleep,” Alex grumbled. “I’m already having a panic attack.”

“But not one of the suffocating ones?”

Alex shook his head. 

“I’ll give you another Xanax,” Yassen offered. Just this once, of course. The boy had already had enough to sedate a small horse, or at least Yassen suspected so. As loathe as he was to keep feeding Alex’s addiction, this was the last leg of his gap in knowledge. They only had to get through it once. 

Alex sighed and held out his hand. Yassen obligingly dropped another pill into it and waited for the boy to swallow it. As soon as he did, he grimaced and began rattling off the details of his mission at Rosethorne Academy, this time with hallucinations interspersed like bullet points. He’d clearly run through this all recently, either at the prison or shortly before. Some of it was familiar from the medical exam Yassen had sat in on, but most of it was new. Alex’s objectively worsening hallucinations in the space of a few weeks. The easy access to opiates and spiralling mental health. His failure. The psyche ward. The party. The dead agent. His dim but distressing memories of the facility he’d been held at before. Finally, his arrival at the prison.

Yassen let him have a minute to gather his thoughts before he spoke. “Tell me about what happened at the prison. The things you couldn’t tell me before.”

“Yassen,” the boy moaned, pressing his palms against his eye sockets. “I finished my missions. You said we’d be done. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“And yet there’s plenty that could matter now,” Yassen pointed out. “Things that might help me avoid future problems for us. What did you overhear?”

Alex folded his arms and twisted in his seat so that he faced away from Yassen. “No. You said.”

“I did say,” Yassen agreed. “And I only just now found out how much information you had access to. Take a minute to think of what might be important or relevant and then tell me that. I don’t need the entire narrative.”

“I’m tired,” Alex snapped.

“I know.” Yassen had to struggle to keep his own voice even. He’d gone four hours without a smoke break and it was starting to show. Much as he wished he could just roll down the window and take one now, he couldn’t quite justify it to himself. Alex’s health was already so fragile, he didn’t even want to think about what an irritant like second hand smoke could amount to. He grimaced and added, “Please.”

Alex sighed but didn’t say anything.

To be fair to the boy, Yassen knew he was on thin ice and probably staring down the barrel of another tantrum before he fell asleep for the night. He also knew that he hadn’t properly set Alex’s expectations on how much information he would need. Short of strong arming the boy, thus guaranteeing conflict, Yassen couldn’t think of anything else he could bargain with. Junk food, perhaps. There was no way Yassen was giving him more percocet, not so soon after his last dose. It wasn’t as though Yassen had any information that Alex particularly wanted. 

It hit him suddenly. Alex’s interest in his parents. His glossing over of everything else.

“If you tell me,” he said, keeping his voice light. “I’ll tell you the story of how your father gave me the scar on my neck.”

Alex whipped around. “Really? You swear.”

Yassen nodded and took the next exit, following the signs for lodging. He’d keep his word about stopping for the night. They’d made more progress in crossing the state than he’d planned on and it was an excuse to smoke. 

Setting his jaw, Alex turned that over in his mind before turning back to Yassen. “I’m not sure what was important. I heard the warden ask you to mind me. The full health panel was when Briar and Scalia started worrying about the injections and why I wasn’t growing, but they didn’t connect the two. Briar asked me questions about them, so I gave her Smithers’ name in case she could actually do something about finding out. I think that’s where she got her information about the injections, but I’m not sure. I heard the warden chew them out for including the name ‘Yasha’ in my care notes, because someone high up at MI6 got mad about it. He knew they were being obtuse about my care, but he didn’t want me sent somewhere they wouldn’t go easy on me. He told them to keep their heads down and to keep giving me the injections even though they both wanted to take me off them. You heard the conversation between him and Crowley. That’s it, other than the surveillance.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Yassen had to pause to take that all in. “Wait. Surveillance?”

“The iPod also scanned for surveillance and had something approximating thermal vision, except better, because it could see through most barriers and had range. I could see at least half of the prison security features that way.”

Yassen gripped the steering wheel. “And you didn’t even hint at that?”

“I didn’t know leaving was a possibility! Or that you’d help me with it. You could have hinted too, you know.” Alex folded his arms. “It’s also why I didn’t want to throw it away.”

“You could have said.”

“Would it have stopped you?”

Yassen scowled. It wouldn’t have. No matter the advantage, he couldn’t risk them being tracked by MI6. Smithers might be pro-Alex, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t consider MI6 the lesser of the two evils had he known Alex was otherwise roaming the globe with the ex-assassin who’d killed his uncle. He pulled into a motel lot and parked, reaching for his seatbelt.

“Story,” Alex said firmly. 

“I didn’t say I’d tell you right away. Let me get us a room and have a smoke first,” Yassen told him, shoving open his door and climbed out. At Alex’s irate look, he turned around and added, “I promise I’ll tell you before you go to sleep.”

Instead of giving him hell for his hypocrisy, Alex’s lips twisted into an almost disbelieving smile. He settled back into his seat, something tired tugging at his expression as he raised his eyebrows. “Does it end with you and Dad killing someone? This is going to be one fucked up bedtime story.”

Yassen rolled his eyes. Another skill to add to his babysitting resume. Wonderful.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry. Just realized that this would be awkward little snippet to lump in with next week's chapter. Here it is. Enjoy the extra. ^^

Ten minutes later, Yassen returned to the car with their room key and a bottle of water. He grabbed both bags as Alex trailed wearily after him. Another dreary little room with lumpy twin mattresses and the threat of bedbugs. 

Yassen pulled out his cigarettes. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he told him, striding over to the door. He tugged it open and paused, before tossing over his shoulder, “Brush your teeth before you lie down-- and don’t forget to floss.”

Whatever Alex grumbled back in reply was lost as Yassen stepped over to the curb and lit up. The first drag was like heaven, even though some distant part of his brain knew that he was damaging his cardiovascular health with every puff. He exhaled a plume of white smoke and watched it drift into the sky anyway. 

After he’d sated his nicotine cravings, he returned to the room reeking like an ashtray but otherwise in a better mood. Alex had curled onto his side on the bed nearest the wall but furthest from the window, which saved Yassen the trouble of making him trade. Something about his arrangement of limbs seemed unnatural. They were stiff, pulled close to his body, but twisted as though he had no real control of them. 

“Alex?”

Alex didn’t reply, didn’t shift, didn’t so much as sigh. After a long second, he let out a small choking sound. 

Yassen was at his side in a flash. How could he be so stupid? He should have never given the boy another xanax. In Alex’s poor health, it was probably impossible to judge how much was enough to overdose. He turned the boy onto his back, checking his pulse. It was strong, if a tad elevated. Brown eyes stared anxiously at nothing. “Alex?”  
Alex seemed to struggle to get his mouth to work. Yassen had to strain to hear him. “... hair…”

“What?” Yassen shook him gently. Alex’s airway was open, his breathing fast but steady. It was almost like the boy had been suddenly afflicted with tetanus.

“She cut my hair…” Alex managed to grind out. 

Yassen understood now. Perhaps discussing it had prompted the flashback, but Yassen was glad to recognize the source at least. “A new hallucination. The woman who drugged you and cut your hair to sneak you through the airport in a wheelchair.”

Alex hummed and grimaced. “... my hair…” he tried again.

Yassen sighed and shifted so that Alex was propped upright on the pillows and braced against the headboard. He sat beside him. “Your hair is fine, Alex. Hideous and in need of a trim, but completely unaltered, I promise.”

The boy hardly seemed reassured. That could have been because he hardly seemed able to communicate anything. 

Yassen dug a hand into the boy’s stupid mop of overgrown tangles and pulled gently. “See? It’s all still here.” He singled out one of the longest strands and pulled it forward in front of Alex’s blank eyes. “Look. It grew back. You’re not drugged. Well, not with anything you didn’t take on purpose.”

Alex twitched, but his gaze didn’t move. Yassen grimaced, thinking of the aviator fuel flames. No matter how much Alex could see the truth, it didn’t stop the sensation creeping across his shoulders or the debilitating pain. Only Yassen’s smothering of the flames seemed to help and only for a split second. Perhaps this was in the same vein? 

At least he’d gotten his smoke break in before this. Small mercies. 

He began dragging his hands through Alex’s hair, tugging on the ends each time to make a point of its length. “This seems like as good a time as any for the story,” he mused. It took him a moment to decide where he wanted to begin. “We were in the Amazon jungle. It took five days to make the journey….”

  
  



	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Just Alex's POV this week, but it's a longer chapter, so hopefully it all evens out. :) As always, I'm thrilled to hear your thoughts.

Time passed slowly as the moved further west. While Yassen seemed focused on getting to Vegas, Alex found himself out of sorts. It wasn’t that he was stalling, per se: he simply couldn’t connect to any sense of urgency. Since the initial shock of their attack on the cruise ship, they had yet to see hide nor hair of their supposed pursuers. Scorpia hadn’t appeared at any of their dingy roadside motels. MI6 and the CIA weren’t lurking inside the dimly lit rest stops. Capture felt like a concern of the past. 

Almost by accident, their days started settle into a predictable routine. Yassen would let him sleep until the luxuriously late hour of eight in the morning before badgering him out of bed for breakfast and a small workout. Alex knew this was entirely for his benefit as Yassen had already completed his own by that hour, but it was hard not to be annoyed. While the meds Yassen dispensed were good at keeping the worst of his symptoms at bay, that didn’t mean that Alex felt anywhere near full health: his hallucinations made their presence known daily, his panic attacks (while more manageable) could be used to set a watch, and his body always seemed to be running on empty no matter how much fast food and petrol station candy he managed to choke down. By noon, they’d have lunch and get back on the road if Alex’s brain and body were being kind to him. If not, Yassen seemed content to wait while Alex dodged phantom crocodiles, gagged on the taste of snake blood, or rolled to put out the memory of flames.

Alex indulged Yassen as much as Yassen indulged him. Begrudgingly, he’d drag himself out of bed to do a quick series of stretches and push ups under the older man’s watchful eye. He ate as much as he could stand shy of vomiting (with varying levels of success). Tried not to complain about how much time they spent in the car. Resisted the temptation to steal more pills. In exchange, Yassen criticized but never quite cut off Alex’s supply of junk food. He certainly dispensed Xanax like they were Skittles, though Alex noticed he was decidedly less generous with the Percocet. The older man even seemed to make an effort to stop for gas a bit more proactively, ensuring Alex had a chance to stretch his legs and stock up on twizzlers.

From time to time, Alex would take a moment to examine the towns they stopped in. Most had some form of public transportation but tended towards the local. 

Nothing Alex could rely on to slip away. 

The thought settled heavily on his mind, especially in the quiet moments. He had to leave soon. Guilt gnawed at him every time Yassen declined to be impatient with him. The man’s temper seemed well under control now and he never tried to make Alex self-conscious about his hallucinations or small frustrations. Instead of reassuring him, it somehow made Alex feel that much worse. It was bad enough that neither of them knew why Yassen was making such an effort, but did he have to be so damn nice about it?

Yet leaving was always more pragmatic another day. Maybe he’d go when Yassen ran out of stories. Alex wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but towards the end of the evening Yassen was usually of a mind to indulge Alex’s requests for more about his time with his dad. So far as bedtime stories revolving around assassination went, Alex supposed they were pretty tame. Yassen definitely made an effort to sanitize them. He’d spent a good twenty minutes detailing all of the interesting places they’d visit in a city, all of the little jokes, the unexpected difficulties, or strange customs they’d encounter traveling. Little to no detail went into describing their actual work and, by ritual, each story ended with a lame: “and then we got down to business and eliminated the target.”

Alex didn’t mind. Yassen seemed to understand what he was really looking for: the rare glimpses of the personality behind the name John Rider. Ian had remained mostly silent on the topic of his older brother, while Ash had only highlighted the golden boy qualities Alex now hated in himself. While tinged with a bit of hero worship, Yassen painted a slightly different picture, one that Alex was hungry for: a more complicated man who hid a lot behind a friendly grin and a quick wit.

There was one little sticking point in Alex’s mind. In some of Yassen’s recountings, it seemed that his dad had been a little bit… mean. Withholding. Yassen didn’t like to talk about the events that led him to Scorpia in the first place, but he certainly hadn’t been as cut out for the work as Alex had assumed he’d been. There was a wistful quality in the way Yassen spoke of their interactions. Alex rather suspected that Yassen had needed John a lot more than John needed him. 

Alex wasn’t sure if Yassen noticed the quality himself, but it bothered him. He knew his father had been a secret agent tasked with taking down the organization, but Alex rather got the impression that John had deliberately kept Yassen off-balance. Had made things harder. Perhaps it was just to acclimate him to the work, but Alex couldn’t be sure. 

It bothered him a lot sometimes.

That kicked off a weird little comparison to his and Yassen’s relationship that he didn’t particularly want to examine. Perhaps Yassen was treating him as kindly as he’d wished John had treated him. Then again, John had been preparing Yassen to be a killer and Yassen was preparing Alex, by his own words, for the exact opposite.

Yassen tapped him on the shoulder. With a start, Alex realized the older man must have been attempting to get his attention for the last few seconds. Blinking, Alex realized the car had ground to a halt outside of dimly lit gas station and the ever-present yet annoyingly spelled quik-mart. 

“I said, do you want anything?” Assured that he had Alex’s attention at last, Yassen took the key out of the ignition and shoved open his door. 

Alex unbuckled himself and followed suit, yawning. “Only if they have those pink marshmallow cakes again. I still have half a pack of candy left.”

Yassen led the way into the store and held the door for Alex. “Would it kill you to eat something that wasn’t fifty percent sugar?”

“Don’t you start,” Alex grumbled. “You had a shot of vodka and a pack of cigarettes for breakfast.”

“I might be a hypocrite, but I’m still right,” Yassen told him, before turning to the sleepy looking cashier and pointing to his preferred brand of cigarettes without bothering to speak. Alex hadn’t quite made up his mind about Yassen’s new habits. A small flicker of guilt erupted whenever he remembered that these vices were entirely fueled by taking care of him. On the other hand, he couldn’t think of a more accurate way to monitor the man’s misery. One pack a day meant things were pretty good, two meant the day had been trying, and three meant that Yassen was close to losing his temper. A shot or two in the morning meant that things were a little too quiet, oddly enough. Like Yassen was uneasy. Vices aside, the information was too valuable; Alex wasn’t sure he could live with the man if he decided to commit to getting healthy again. 

Alex wandered the aisles, a little tempted by the cartons of egg salad and cellophane wrapped sandwiches. They would be filling. The taste would be different than sugar. It might help him feel better.

His stomach gave a decided lurch, while his throat seemed to seal itself shut. Hurrying away from the offending smells, Alex grabbed a package gummy bears off the nearest shelf and tossed it on the counter. Best to stick with what was safe.

The cashier blinked quietly as he rang them up, looking as though he was close to nodding off twice during their transaction. ‘Dave’ had been stitched into his blue vest, half obscured by cat hair. Mumbled under his breath and looked at the clock. Yassen had to remind him twice to put money on the pump so that he could refuel. 

Alex hovered impatiently past his shoulder, feeling a swell of crankiness surge up. It wasn’t that difficult to scan barcodes. Why come to work obviously high? He was behaving like—

Well, like a lot of the students did at the academy, at least before they learned to disguise their habits. Alex straightened a little and leaned against the counter, craning to look at the half ajar door behind the counter. A small workspace had been crammed inside what amounted to a large closet, beside a set of coat pegs and bench for the employees. Alex spotted a worn hoodie hanging beyond. Was that an orange pill bottle sticking out? 

He glanced at Yassen as the man collected his change. “I’m going to use the loo. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Yassen shrugged and shoved open the glass door. “Fine. Don’t take too long.”

Alex waited a few seconds for Yassen to disappear around the corner. He always parked out of the immediate sight of the attendants, which Alex suspected had to do with avoiding security cameras and witnesses. Once the sleepy cashier to go back to drowsing on his stool, he sprang into action. Moving down the aisles as inconspicuously as he could manage, he grabbed a small pack of Mentos from the candy aisle and a diet coke from the cooler, glancing back at the cashier as he did so. The man hadn’t looked away from his computer screen. Alex walked back to the bathroom and pulled off a small bit of stray thread form his shirt, wrapping it around one of the candies and set up his little contraption. He walked out a minute later. 

“Excuse me,” he said in his best American accent, standing beside the small swinging door that prevented customers from going behind the counter. He had to raise onto his tiptoes to be clearly visible above the plastic encased hot dog rollers. “Something’s wrong with your bathroom.”

“What?” the man said, glancing over at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” Alex said. “Something's leaking, probably. There’s a mess.”

“Ah, shit.” The man ambled to his feet and pushed past Alex, disappearing into the side hallway that led to the gritty little set of restrooms. Judging by the state of them, they’d probably seen far worse than Alex’s makeshift Mentos volcano in the tank. 

As soon as he was out of sight, Alex flicked a quick glance at the large windows of the station to confirm the assassin wasn’t watching before darting behind the counter and into the employee office. He had at least a few minutes: a toilet oozing unidentified brown liquid wasn’t something most people were willing to touch with bare hands. That didn’t mean that he could afford to waste time. Grabbing the orange bottle without looking at it, he shoved it into his pocket and quickly made his escape, forcing himself to walk slowly and normally as he exited the small store. 

Yassen was already stowing the pump back into its cradle and screwing the lid back onto the gas tank. “All set?”

“Yeah. You grabbed my bears, right?”

The package smacked him in the face. Alex glared, but managed to keep himself from dropping them as he climbed into the front seat. Glanced at the gas station in the rear view mirror. Stared determinedly ahead. Forced himself not to look again. Mentally begged Yassen to get back into the damn car and drive them away.

Yassen started up the car a second later, pulling them out of the parking lot and back onto the highway. 

Alex let out a soft breath. He’d done it. He was in the clear.

Forcing himself to sit still and relaxed, Alex kept a subtle eye on Yassen in the mirror. The man had the near-supernatural sense to tell when something was up, given the necessity of assessing Alex’s hallucinations before they got out of control. If Alex allowed anything to betray his anxiety, he’d have an easy lie established for him, but it also meant that Yassen would watch him like a hawk for the next few hours and avoid stopping again. 

Alex leaned back against his headrest and shut his eyes. As much as he itched to examine his plunder, he couldn’t risk Yassen confiscating them or giving him shit for testing the odds that “Dave” called the cops. The store had security cameras, but Alex had already considered that. Two dollars worth of merchandise wasn’t nearly enough to grab the manager’s attention and the employee probably wouldn’t even connect the toilet prank to his missing pills. Even if he did, it wasn’t like he’d ever report them missing. Safe as he felt about the crime, it still wasn’t something he wanted to discuss.

His stomach lurched. Yassen would just call him a junkie again.

Yassen broke the silence a few minutes later. “How are you feeling?”

Alex popped open one eye. “Just tired. And bored. What else is new.”

Yassen hmmed in agreement. “You can listen to the radio if you’d like.”

Alex shrugged and looked out the window. “That’s alright. I’m mostly just tired of being in the car all day.”

The Russian fell silent, obviously having no counter to that. Alex shifted slightly, careful not to let the pill bottle in his pocket rattle. Truth be told, he was sick of being in his head so much. He’d always hated getting high before going to prison; the out of control feeling had been jarring and frightening when he’d first encountered it. But the last time he’d done it, it made him delighted to not have to worry about being so tethered to reality. He missed it. Wanted to go back to that warm, safe place, but Yassen was much better about guarding Alex’s doses now. Bitter though he was, Alex understood, at least a little: Yassen didn’t have another way to get him more and he was already running low. Alex could easily blow through what was left in a day or two if he got greedy. 

Hopefully, Alex’s little gamble would pay off and he’d have his own stash to draw from. Yassen could dispense what he had at whatever rate he felt comfortable with and Alex could supplement. Both of them could be happy. Alex was certain manage that happy floaty feeling without being obviously high. 

He had to.

A half hour later, Yassen pulled off of the main highway and nodded to a small strip mall that had only been distantly visible from the road. At Alex’s unspoken question, he shrugged. “There’s a few things I want to pick up while we have the chance. Is there anything you need?”

Alex shrugged. “More clothes, I suppose.” 

It was still strange to Alex, this whole living on the run thing. They’d been forced to leave everything behind when they’d left the cruise ship, but Yassen seemed perfectly comfortable restarting from scratch over and over again. It was still disorienting for Alex, though: nothing was permanent anymore. Apart from his coat and shoes, everything had been replaced within the last week. Yassen didn’t even bother doing laundry—he just bought them new clothes every time they dirtied theirs. Truthfully, Alex had another day or so’s worth left in his bag, but he needed an excuse to split up. A great chance to get a look at what he’d managed to steal. 

Yassen nodded and handed him a few bills from his wallet. “Meet me back here in a half hour.”

One ever-so-casual step at a time, Alex walked into the first clothing store he saw. Yassen had given him the crash course in shopping to blend in a few days ago. Simple, nondescript colors, no logos, no patterns. Picture the most generic outfit someone his age would wear and find that. It would barely take him a minute. Alex watched the other man through the glass storefront, pretending to examine the tag of a sweater. As soon as Yassen disappeared into the interior of an electronics store, Alex reached into his pocket and examined his find.

‘Dave’ must have stolen these too, he realized, reading the name Elijah on the label. 

Oxycontin. 

He was tempted to openly cheer as he counted out the remaining eight pills. Yes, oxy was quite a bit stronger than Percocet, but that just meant it would last him longer if he split the tablets. With a quick glance around the store, he popped the lid and swallowed one. Sighed. The orange pill bottle might as well have been a flashing green exit sign. It would have been a smarter idea to wait for a chance to divide the pills into halves, but the day was already dragging into its usual existential nightmare inside his head and Alex wanted out. 

Yanking items semi-randomly off the rack, Alex brought them up to the register and paid as quickly as possible. Twenty minutes before he had to meet Yassen, it only now occurred to him that he was about to be very, very high in a strange mall somewhere in Southern Texas. Grabbing his bag, he half jogged to the car. Alex might be many things now, but he wasn’t an idiot: he knew damn well than soon enough he might not be able to navigate himself out of a paper bag, much less out of the mall and to their parking spot. If it kicked in before he found his way back, he’d be in a world of trouble.

Alex dropped his bag on a bench near the car and began pacing. 

Why did it have to take so long to take effect? He was ready to be high right now. Conversely, what had possessed him to take it right away to begin with? There was every chance he’d get caught. He should tell Yassen what he’d done. Except then Yassen would be furious or worse, disappointed in him. Alex grimaced, unable to stop his anxious feet from completing their chosen circuit of the sidewalk. He didn’t want to deal with that right now. He didn’t want to deal with anything. That was the whole point.

Yassen showed up minutes later. “I thought you’d stall for at least another few minutes.”

Alex shrugged and nibbled on the nail of his pinky finger. “I’m just tired.”

“Stop that,” Yassen said absently, glancing at Alex’s hands. His nails looked like they’d gone through a paper shredder at this point. “If you’re done, we should get back on the road.”

A tiny niggle of warmth erupted in Alex. Finally. He smothered the urge to giggle. “Okay. Sure.”

Yassen watched him out of the corner of his eye as he unlocked the car with a quick tap of the fob. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” Alex hedged, even though he felt awesome overtake him with every passing heartbeat.  _ Gotta keep it secret, _ he reminded himself.  _ Have to stay discreet and not let him realize I’ve gotten extra _ . He climbed in and made himself comfortable. 

Nothing hurt anymore. The world shrunk to the here and the now and it was wonderful. There was no looming threat. There was no MI6. No Scorpia. “I just want to catch a nap.”

“Alright,” Yassen said, setting his bag in the backseat before glancing at the sky. It was a little before nine in the evening, American time, and they’d only been on the road for about an hour or so. “We’ll stop for the night soon.”

Alex shrugged, before nodding. The warm bubbles of happiness enveloping him wouldn’t last for more than an hour tops, but the more time he and Yassen spent two feet away from each other, the more likely he was to trip the man’s sensors. He folded up his jacket into a pillow and tucked it against the window and his shoulder, laying his head down and pretending to fall asleep. 

  
  



	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! :D

For his part, Yassen didn’t think much of Alex’s sudden silence. Malnourished and chronically exhausted, he spent a great majority of his time dozing or whining about being tired. He drove in silence for another half hour and quickly found a small motel with isolated rooms spaced independently around the property like suburban cabins. It was well within the parameters he usually favored: nice enough that he could leave Alex alone for an hour to run errands without worrying, but dingy enough that his fake ID never got more than passing scrutiny. Located in a medium sized town, it’s position meant that they’d have access to any number of shops and services while staying within a minute or two of a quick escape. 

Alex hardly twitched when Yassen left to get their room. Just as well, he supposed. Together, they were more memorable than a lone traveler. With Alex’s luck, the receptionist was just as likely to be chatty as she was to be a member of an organization he’d crossed. 

Room key in hand minutes later, Yassen shook the boy’s shoulder. “Alex?”

He blinked a few times, staring hazily at Yassen for a good ten seconds before seeming to realize that he wanted something from him. “Hm?”

“The room,” he snapped. Nicotine was calling his name. He took a small breath and worked to control his tone. “I’m sure you’d rather sleep in a bed, yes? Get up.”

Alex blearily nodded and ambled out of the car, nearly tripping twice as he staggered to his feet. 

Yassen smothered a sigh. Of course his physical coordination had managed to deteriorate over the span of a nap. Of course. 

Was it really too much to hope that Alex’s health would ever be normal? It didn’t have to be extraordinary. Yassen wasn’t expecting that the boy turn back into an athlete overnight. Just one day where he didn’t vomit or nearly injure himself hallucinating would be nice. Alex was already chained to a pill bottle for the foreseeable future. Would the universe simply not rest until he ended up in a wheelchair?

Blinking, Alex shuffled over to the door at the end of the path. Yassen quelched the urge to point out that he’d forgotten his things and simply gathered both bags. Small steps, he reminded himself. Things had gotten a lot worse after leaving prison than he’d thought, but that was nothing new. Yassen had been on many jobs with unexpected hang-ups and this was no different. He just had to be patient, reevaluate often, and set his expectations for Alex’s progress accordingly. 

That, and stop for regular smoke breaks. 

Scorpia had yet to catch up with them, though once or twice Yassen had suspected a car might be following them. Both instances had quickly turned out to be lost tourists, not that he had been reassured. 

It was hard to smother the urge to rush Alex to Vegas. Normally, he’d be fine sitting in a hotel room and meditating, waiting for his opportunity or for the trail to grow cold. Dealing with Alex day in and day out was far more draining than he’d thought it would be. Alex’s mild-mannered nature seemed to have evaporated under the physical strain and Yassen found himself digging deeper and deeper into his well of patience just to avoid slapping him again over minor disagreements. Even so, they had plenty of time to reach the identity broker and plenty of time to get Alex back to full health to begin the next school year. It was probably best to lay low and out of sight for as long as possible—Las Vegas had dozens of Scorpia contacts and his approach would have to be careful anyway. The longer they waited before moving on, the less of a priority they would be to the authorities. There would be other terrorists to catch and bigger projects to manage. 

At least, that’s what he hoped. 

Alex collapsed face-first onto his bed the instant Yassen pushed the door open. Amused despite himself, Yassen dropped their bags beside the bench that flanked the door and glanced around. The room seemed fine. Alex would be alright on his own. During the last few days, his hallucinations had been frequent but manageable. Alex knew perfectly well to stay in the room if he was feeling unwell and to keep his trips out to under fifteen minutes if it couldn’t be avoided. 

He shook Alex’s shoulder again. “I’m going out,” he told him, when the dark brown head finally jerked away from the pillow to look at him. Grabbing the electronics bag, he fished out a flip phone and set it on the side table beside the boy. “My number is the only one programmed. Take it with you, especially if you need to leave the room. I hope I don’t have to explain the risks involved if you do something as stupid as call a friend.”

Alex nodded and dropped back against the pillow. “They’ll trace us. More prison. Got it.”

Yassen set the bag down on the floor within reach, suddenly a touch uncertain with how to proceed. When was the last time he’d given someone a gift? He couldn’t remember. Hopefully Alex wouldn’t mind his lack of ceremony. “There’s something else for you here, in case you get bored again. Is there anything you think you can eat?”

Alex’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Milkshakes.”

Yassen sighed and grabbed his car keys. “Of course.”

O 

Alex rode the happy haze out as long as he possibly could. It was more potent than his Percocet high had been, only this time he’d been more prepared to compensate for the giddiness. As much as he wanted to do otherwise, he’d kept his mouth firmly shut. By the time Yassen had them situated in the motel, his ride was more or less over and it had been easy to fake being tired but sober. 

He flipped onto his back, feeling the lingering relaxation fade. The hallucinations would be worse tonight. At the very least, he’d feel more miserable and shitty. On edge. It had something to do with dopamine levels and oxytocin depletion, but he found himself not caring. Escape had been great while it lasted.

Still, he couldn’t just lay here; Yassen would be back soon enough. Alex rolled onto his feet and dug the pills out of his pocket. Grabbing the spare keycard Yassen had left for him, he went into the bathroom and spilled the tablets onto the counter. Meticulously, he cut them into little halves and after a little thought, turned half of those into quarters. It never hurt to be cautious. Carefully scooping his little doses back into the bottle, he swept away the lingering traces of powder. The absolute last thing he needed was Yassen to get on his case about snorting painkillers again.

Speaking of Yassen being gone… Replacing the card, he padded back over to his bed and began hunting around for the remote. If this motel had a decent cable package, it might be early enough to catch a quick episode or two of reality TV before Yassen insisted on the news. His ankle bumped into the bag on the ground. 

Right. 

He stared down at it, brows furrowed. What had Yassen gotten him? He hadn’t paid much attention, eager for the man to leave so Alex could stop stressing out over being high long enough to enjoy it. He grabbed the paper tote by it’s corded handles and upturned it on the bed. 

A brand new Nintendo DS bounced onto the bedspread, followed by a half dozen games. Aliens. Batman. Call of Duty. Castlevania. Donkey Kong. FIFA. Mario Kart. A little bit of everything and none of the crappy games like Hamsterz or Safari Adventures. Yassen knew absolutely nothing about video games, so he must have asked the store assistant for help. Had risked being memorable.

Alex stared at the spread, ears ringing. 

He was three blocks away before his brain could even begin to catch up with his feet. His duffel bag was heavy in his hands; he must have grabbed it without realizing. Where was he going to go? What town was he even in? Were they still in Texas?

It didn’t matter. He’d just have to figure it out. Digging into his jacket pocket, he did a quick inventory. He had the stolen oxy, maybe thirty dollars and change leftover from clothes shopping, and a fake passport. Maybe he should ditch the passport. Even if Yassen couldn’t use it to track him, that didn’t mean that MI6 couldn’t use it to track Yassen if Alex got caught. 

Another six blocks passed under his feet. His legs burned, unused to the prolonged strain. Football practice seemed so long ago. He supposed it could be worse; perhaps he should thank Yassen someday for keeping him in shape. 

Well, if they ever ran into each other again. For Yassen’s sake, he hoped not. 

Fifteen minutes later, Alex dropped onto a steel bench situated on the edge of a neighborhood park. It was mostly deserted, apart from a young mother only half-paying attention to her toddler in the sandbox. He took a handful of deep breaths, thoroughly irked. Despite his bitter memories of playing football for hours without a problem, the fact remained that he had to start thinking about getting off his feet. His stamina was shot. Cabs were nowhere near as prevalent in this country, much less in a small town somewhere in Probably Still Texas. A bus or a train station would be ideal, but he had no idea where one was, much less if it would take him anywhere further than ten miles. 

He grimaced and stood. There was no chance of him finding one by sitting on his arse, so he’d just have to keep heading deeper into the business areas of the city. He’d instinctively headed towards the edge of suburbia and would now have to pay the price. Another five minutes of walking produced a small bus stop. Alex could have collapsed with relief. Instead, he gathered his change and hopped on the first to stop. 

The driver squinted at him as his coins clattered into the till, brushing his thinning white blonde hair back and revealing the line of a farmer’s tan beneath his uniform. “Oh, you mean the hub? Yeah, that’s probably what you’re looking for. It’s where all the buses in this area go. Sounds like you want the 401 to Austin. It’s a little late, but if you hurry, you can probably catch the ten-thirty before the line shuts down for the night.”

Alex nodded gratefully. “And this bus is headed there?”

“Our final stop.” The man considered him in one of his mirrors as Alex chose a seat near the front. “You on your own?”

“That’s right,” Alex said easily, well aware of the concern hiding in the man’s glance. “My aunt was expecting me around five, but I got held up. She won’t mind if I’m a little late so long as I arrive in one piece.”

The man grunted as the doors shut. “Well, so long as you get there, kiddo. I’d hate to worry her.”

Alex swallowed and stared at his hands. How long would it take Yassen to realize he just hadn’t stepped out? A lance of regret lodged in his chest. He should have at least left a note, so the man didn’t have to wonder if he’d been kidnapped or arrested. God, Alex was so inconsiderate, even when he was trying to help. “Yeah.”

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts (shrieks of rage and despair are also welcome). :D

 

Alex waved to the bus driver as he stepped off forty minutes later. The hub lived up to it’s short, undescriptive name. It was mostly made up of metal bus stops arranged in a near random fashion, as if a dozen or so local methods of transportation had converged like pigeons in a park; chirping, bobbing, and generally increasing the chaos. Buses pulled to and from curbs, often honking at the occasional pedestrian and nearly colliding with the passenger vehicles coming to retrieve them. A single police cruiser passed by in the background. Given that it was hours past the end of the work day, the crowds were thinning quickly, leaving him feeling painfully exposed. 

He kept his head down as he approached, hunting around for the stop labeled 401. It occurred to him suddenly that he hadn’t asked how much the ticket was. Hopefully, he had enough. If not, perhaps he could lean hard on the little boy lost routine and persuade the driver to let him board anyway. 

Finding his stop, he dropped down onto the bench and glanced at the scrolling electric sign listing the lines near a kiosk. It was just after ten, so he hadn’t missed it. With a little luck, he’d be on his way to the state capitol before Yassen became anxious enough to look for him. 

Alex felt another stab of guilt, but shoved it down. 

Yes, it was painful to leave like this, but it was the kindest and the only way he could think of. How could that conversation possibly have gone? “I want to leave because you’re too nice to me?” or “I think we should go our separate ways so I don’t almost get you killed and thrown in prison again” would only lead him down the same route they’d gone every time Alex tried to broach the issue. Yassen didn’t know why he was taking care of Alex to the point of self-destruction, so he couldn’t possibly know that it wasn’t going to be worth it. Alex knew it, not that he was convinced he could persuade the man of that. If he’d said anything, Yassen would have just watched him closer or maybe even tied him up again to prevent him from going. Going that route would only delay the inevitable. At least this way, Alex could take charge of when and how much it would hurt.

Not that it made him feel any less shitty about it. 

He pressed his clenched fists against his eye sockets. The instant he’d seen that DS, he knew he’d overstayed, had waited too long before cutting the fucking umbilical cord. Yassen hadn’t bought it because Alex needed it—he’d bought it so Alex would be happy. It was bad enough that Alex would never, ever be able to pay him back for doing so much to keep him alive, but how much worse could that disparity be if he was now exerting extra effort to keep him entertained while he was at it?

It would be so much easier if he could resent him more for killing Ian. His thirst for vengeance had faded long before he’d discovered the man in prison. At least his efforts hadn’t bothered him as much when he’d thought Hell had determined that Yassen owed him his help.

He pulled his hands away from his face, starting as he saw a uniformed police officer approaching his bench. 

Shit. 

In a bigger city, an unattended teenager might not have raised alarms, but perhaps it was a little more unusual where the transportation wasn’t so ubiquitous. The crowds had disappeared, leaving him and a half dozen other passengers the only people left for the cop to scrutinize. 

He tried to keep his expression and body language relaxed. 

“Hey, buddy,” the officer said as he drew level with Alex. Clean cut, fit, and quite professional: different than what Alex had expected from a country cop. He smiled and put his hands on his belt, nodding to the sign beside the stop. “Waitin’ for the four-oh-one?”

Alex smiled back at him, doing his damn best to project passing friendly disinterest. Just a normal kid on a normal trip. “Why do you ask?”

Officer Gaines (he’d shifted close enough for Alex to read his ID) gave a polite wince. “Well, I’m afraid that minors can’t ride our express buses unaccompanied, unless they’ve got a parental waiver. I’m happy to give you a ride back home, if you need one. Where to, buddy?”

Well, fuck. Alex shook his head, discarding the idea of playing the ‘dumb but sympathetic kid from a broken home’ card. This guy struck him as the type to make sure he got home safe before having a sit down with his parents to ensure everything was fine. Alex would be very reassured that people like him existed if it wasn’t for the fact that it was about to wind up with the CIA en route. Without anything that could pass as a waiver, he needed to stall until he could find a chance to bolt.

Fucking hell. 

“Oh, I’m not actually waiting for the bus. I’m waiting for my ride.” His eyes flicked to the general benches next to the curb that had clearly been designated for pick-ups. “The benches were a little full when I got here.”

The officer didn’t so much as blink at his bald-faced lie. “You sure about that? I can give you a ride or call your parents. It’s no trouble. I just don’t want you stuck waiting out here for a bus that can’t legally pick you up.”

Alex shook his head. “They’re already on their way.”

The officer gave him a careful look. “You call them when you got here?”

An obvious trap. Alex must have been of interest to him when he’d first arrived. The man probably knew that he hadn’t called anyone. If he said yes, the cop might very well find a reason to ask to see his cell.

“I forgot my phone,” Alex tried, leaning back against the bench as though his back were sore from sitting on the hard steel when in fact he was trying to scope out the exits. The hub wasn’t particularly close to anything, aside from a wide-open field with a slide at the end that he supposed might be considered a park. Officer Friendly’s cardio was probably far better than his. Possibly on par with Yassen’s. “It’s fine. They won’t be long.”

“Sure thing, buddy,” the officer said without missing a beat. He made a show of looking around. “Well, it’s getting late and I’d hate to leave you out here by yourself. I’ll just hang around and make sure you get where you’re going alright.” He leaned against the metal pole supporting the bus stop’s sign. “So, you live around here? How’s home?”

Alex swallowed his groan. Not just at the cop’s obvious runaway probe, but because he spotted a familiar sedan slow by the curb. 

Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. Explaining this to Yassen couldn’t be as bad as being dragged to a police station and having his identity checked. 

Close, but not quite.

He popped up onto his feet and grabbed his duffel bag. “Thanks for waiting with me, officer, but my step-dad’s here.”

The officer twisted to look around and spotted Yassen waiting patiently at the curb. “That’s your ride?”

“That’s my ride,” Alex confirmed, fighting every instinct in himself to run in the opposite direction. He hurried to the passenger door and grabbed the handle. He more or less chucked his bag into the backseat, fighting his wince as he saw Yassen’s bag and the shopping tote with the DS clearly tucked back inside it. Throwing himself into his seat, he snapped his buckle shut and begged Yassen to drive with his eyes. 

O

Officer Gaines followed the teen to the car and rapped on his window until Yassen obligingly rolled it down. “This your step-dad?”

“Yeah.” Alex sat frozen in his seat. It took very little effort to guess that he was trapped in fight or flight mode, torn between confronting the cop and outright bolting. 

Yassen fought the urge to smash his head against the steering wheel. Why? What had he done to warrant this?

He leaned forward to see the cop with an embarrassed smile. “That’s me. I’m running a little late. He wasn’t any trouble, was he?”

“No, not at all.” The officer seemed to relax fractionally and raised a hand. “Well, I’m glad you found your ride okay, buddy. Y’all have a nice night.”

“You too, officer,” Yassen called as he pulled away from the curb. 

Alex stared diligently at the dashboard. For his part, Yassen was equally committed to maintaining the jagged, violin-string tight silence stretching between them. Alex was clearly too deep in whatever panic attack he was having to talk, not that Yassen was optimistic about their odds of sorting it out. How could Yassen broach this topic anyway? He didn’t have the faintest idea what he’d done to warrant Alex’s attempt to run away from him. Yesterday, things had been fine. A fucking gift of all things was the only difference he could think of; it was the only thing left behind, apart from the phone. Surely Alex would just tell him outright if he hated the little game system.

He was so inept. 

Every time, complications seemed to jump out of nowhere to completely derail whatever stability Yassen built. Even when Yassen was confident that he had a working knowledge of Alex and his emotional state, it was like stumbling into a minefield. What was he missing? Was he just so bad at understanding the boy that he couldn’t accurately assess his needs? It had seemed so straightforward before. 

Alex was stuck in prison and needed to stop taking his medication—check. 

Alex started withdrawing and needed opiates. Not ideal, but check. 

MI6 would pursue Alex to the ends of the earth? Nothing a new identity couldn’t fix. Check. 

Alex being bored from so many hours stuck in hotel rooms and cooped up in a car? It had seemed like such an obvious fix and yet…

And yet Yassen had come back to an empty motel room, a missing bag, and the abandoned electronics. 

It hadn’t been rocket science to guess that the boy had taken flight. He’d been initially torn between waiting to see if Alex changed his mind and looking for the stupid boy immediately. It was probably too much to hope for that Alex had a temporary mood swing or something similar, so Yassen had grabbed everything and gotten back in the car. There were only so many places Alex would go in a town this small. Yassen had spent the last hour checking local bus stops before asking for directions to the nearest thing that passed as a station. Naturally, Alex had already managed to attract official attention by the time he’d arrived, though the boy had retained enough sense to take the exit he’d been given. Not that there was much relief to be had there—Alex was clearly looking for his next chance to bolt. 

But why? What had he done?

Yassen was too frustrated to really appreciate the irony in their reversed positions. He’d be damned if he tried to play the why game with the boy out loud. 

Their motel room was dark and silent when Yassen pulled up. Driving for any extra length of time didn’t remotely appeal to him—the silence threatened to snap at any moment and Yassen wanted the option of creating distance between them. He doubted Alex would get far if he managed to sneak away anyway—this town suffered from a shortage of escape options and disinterested officials. 

And frankly, Yassen had no intention of driving drunk.

Alex ripped off his seat belt and practically leapt from the car. Yassen followed at a much more controlled pace, catching up as Alex halted at the door, realizing he’d forgotten his room key inside. The older man unlocked the door and held it open, meeting his eyes impassively as Alex risked a quick glance at him before darting inside. 

Why was he so nervous? Yassen had never hurt him. Much. Really, that one slap had been the worst of it. And he’d shaken him a few times. And smacked him against a table. That couldn’t possibly count, not compared to the things he’d done to adults for lesser reasons.

He groaned softly as Alex promptly locked himself in the bathroom. That drink sounded better by the second. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! So this week we just have Alex's POV. Normally, I'd try to get them both, but I promise that this is a longer chapter and very, very rewarding content wise. Also, the flow works better with this being separate from the rest. 
> 
> As always, I die from joy every time someone comments. Really. ^^

Alex buried his head in his hands, perched on the edge of the tub and wishing he could just sink into the floor. The window was far too small to slip out of even with his weight loss—it had been the first thing he’d checked. There were no other exits short of knocking out a wall. Even the door was a cheap, compressed wood with a tiny lock. Nothing in the bathroom seemed remotely sturdy or suited for a barricade, not that one would stop Yassen if he really wanted to gain entrance. Locking him out wouldn’t help anything. 

Yassen must be too angry to bother asking or had at least gone back to that disappointed silence. Alex felt his stomach curl in on itself. He’d rather that Yassen just slap him again. At least then it would be over with. 

God, it was all such a mess. 

Alex dug into his pocket and shook out two pills without bothering to check their sizes. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t possibly slip out without being detected, not that he fully understood why Yassen would stop him. The man had come looking for him after all; Alex was split between feeling comforted and profoundly frustrated by that fact. More investment meant a bigger disappointment when Alex inevitably failed to live up to whatever unspoken expectations the man had of him. It was way too much pressure. Alex would rather die than completely trust Yassen only to be abandoned sometime later. 

Maybe that’s why he’d done that exact thing to Yassen first. 

A wave of self-loathing washed over him. He knew he’d become weak, but when did he become such an arsehole? But it wasn’t like he had a choice! Yassen obviously wasn’t going to stop doing… whatever the hell he was doing. 

His hands dug into his hair, painfully yanking on his scalp. What was he supposed to do? There was nothing he could do to protect himself except what he’d already tried, and his attempt to save Yassen had probably made things worse. He’d messed everything up again. Why did this all have to be so complicated?

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, agonizing over what he should do, had failed to do, and absolutely couldn’t do. No knocks interrupted him, though it had to have been at least three quarters of an hour since he’d locked himself in. Listening at the door, he couldn’t hear anything going on in the room: no noise of the television, no sound of Yassen eating or doing stretches. 

Nothing. 

Was Yassen just sitting in silence, fuming? Alex winced. Guarding the door? Finally gotten fed up with him and left? He doubted that last one. The man wouldn’t have bothered tracking Alex down in the first place only to abandon him an hour later. 

Well, it was either sleep in the bathtub or face the music. Alex sighed. Facing the music only won by a small margin.

Easing open the door, Alex peeked into the room as soon as he realized that the Russian wasn’t lurking immediately outside. Instead, Alex found the man sprawled out on his bed, staring dazedly at the ceiling while the TV played on mute, a mostly empty bottle of vodka dangling from his hand. Despite the multiple feet separating them, the teen could actually smell the alcohol.

Alex stared. Was Yassen... drunk? 

Why? It was possible that Yassen was stuck between a rock and a hard place: neither able to kill Alex or risk him getting them both caught by going out on his own. That sounded frustrating enough to warrant some chemical escapism-- Alex was fast on his way to becoming an expert in that arena. It made sense, but somehow, impossibly, Alex was certain that wasn’t the real reason. 

He’d hurt Yassen’s feelings.

It was a staggering, terrifying thought. “Yassen?”

The former assassin jerked as though waking for the first time, rubbing an uncoordinated hand across his face. “Oh, you’re out,” he slurred. Sometimes Alex struggled to believe that English wasn’t Yassen’s first language, only able to detect faint traces of his accent around unfamiliar words. Now it crept into every consonant. “Are you hungry? There’s a menu by the door. Order whatever you--”

It was too much. Alex clenched his fists. “Why are you so nice to me? Stop being so nice to me!”

Yassen squinted at him with bloodshot eyes. “Hm?”

“I don’t even deserve it,” Alex snarled, reaching into his pocket to grab his bottle of stolen pills and hurling it at the wall above the Russian’s head. It exploded, showering the pillow and headboard with white half tablets. “I stole extra and never said!”

“What?” Yassen tried to sit up, but couldn’t quite manage the full motion. He slumped against the headboard instead, wincing before raising a hand and gesturing at the broken bottle. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it.”

“Why should you have to fix it?” Alex demanded, ignoring Yassen’s new attempts to drunkenly shush him or assure him everything was fine. The teen jerked an arm at the room. “I lied to you and created this entire mess! Why is it your problem? Why are all of my problems your problems?”

Yassen shook his head and unsteadily unscrewed the lid of his bottle before taking another drink. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I like your problems better.”

Alex’s anger fizzled. What a weird answer. Then again, Yassen was a weird person. There must be something uncomfortably true about it then. 

With a sigh, he sat on the edge of the bed by Yassen’s knees. “My problems are awful and stupid. What’s wrong with yours?”

Yassen shut his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. You shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“But I do worry about it,” Alex snapped. “All the time. My life is a fucking train wreck and it takes so much time and effort for you to barely keep me afloat. I’m not even nearly as nice to you as you are to me. You’re good at everything except video games. What problems do you have that are so big that you can’t just sail off into the sunset on your own?”

The image on the TV changed abruptly, showering them with bright light in an otherwise dark room. Alex winced and held up a hand to shield his eyes, feeling a headache probe at the edges of his temples. When was that oxy going to kick in? He couldn’t have built up a tolerance already. 

What a wonderful night. 

“I don’t know what else to do.” Yassen looked down at his bottle again and let out a frustrated huff. “I’m barely a person anymore, I can’t just start over at life somewhere.”

“Of course you can. Just ditch me and have an awesome life.” Alex shook Yassen’s calf until he was certain the man was actually listening to him. 

Yassen scoffed and twisted his head away from Alex. “With what? I don’t have hobbies. Interests. Assassins can’t even have favorite foods. John taught me that. I’m not even that anymore. I’m nothing. I’m supposed to just start a whole life from scratch? At my age? I can’t be normal. You’ve still got time, though. You’re not ruined yet.”

Alex groaned. “You really are having a midlife crisis, aren’t you? You’re too young for one, Yassen. You’re supposed to wait until you’re forty-five. At least. You have a whole decade.”

Yassen shrugged and said a little bitterly, “I’m a geriatric in assassin years.”

“I was only teasing.” Alex grimaced and wrapped his arms around himself, tempted to shove Yassen off of the bed to steal the throw blanket beneath him. Was the air conditioner set on high? This was supposed to be a desert, dammit. “It’s alright. I get it. I don’t know who I am anymore either.”

Yassen didn’t respond, but his head slumped forward and for a split-second Alex thought he’d blacked out. He leaned forward and shook the man’s arm until he blinked and looked at him. 

“Are you alright? Maybe you should stop drinking.”

Yassen scowled at him and stubbornly held his bottle out of reach. “It’s just vodka. Don’t worry ‘bout it. You shouldn’t have to worry ‘bout this stuff. I’ll take care of everything.”

Alex sat back, eyes flicking between the bottle and Yassen’s slightly unfocused eyes. “Because you like my problems better?”

Yassen nodded and returned his bottle to his right hand. “Everything’s fine.”

“So you do get something out of helping me?” Alex hesitated. “It’s not just me taking and you giving? You just like solving problems and prefer mine?”

Yassen shrugged again. “Sure.”

“So you won’t be disappointed if I don’t get better?” Alex stared at his lap. “You won’t feel like you wasted all of your time and effort?”

“No.” Yassen shut his eyes and flopped further back into the headboard, if such a thing were physically possible. “Chert. I’m so bad at this. I never know why you’re angry. What am I doing wrong? Do you not like the games? I’ll buy different ones.”

Alex sighed. “Nothing. The games are perfect. I’m just crazy and awful. I don’t know why you put up with me.”

“You’re fine. I like you fine.” The Russian man didn’t open his eyes. “I’ll get better at taking care of you. It’s my fault. I don’t have these parts of me anymore. Maybe I never did. I couldn’t understand John either.”

“You’re doing a great job of taking care of me,” Alex insisted. Yassen just shook his head and took another drink. “Really. Anyone else would have left me by the side of the road by now. I’ve been trying to figure out when you will.”

Yassen scowled. “You’re the one who left. If I’m doing great, you wouldn’t have left.”

Alex tried not to groan. He’d definitely made things worse. 

But what could he do about it? There weren’t a whole lot of options left. Leaving was out, even with Yassen clearly unable to stop him. Apologizing was an uncomfortable option, one that Alex doubted would help much anyway. Explaining never seemed to work, but Alex was stuck between a rock and a hard place, so maybe it was a compromise.

“I can barely keep from having a screaming fit when my coat zipper gets stuck,” he sighed, after he’d turned the idea over in his head long enough to reconfirm that he was really this low on choices. It took him another minute to find the rest of his words. “It’s mean to just let you keep taking care of me when you could be spending all this effort on literally anything else. Yourself. Your retirement.”

“I can’t retire as half a person, Alex. I’d rather go back to working,” Yassen muttered.

Alex raised his eyebrows. “So I’m single handedly keeping you off the streets? Maybe I’m secretly doing the public a service by being so needy all the time.”

Yassen scowled and mumbled something Alex couldn’t catch and took another drink. Another few swallows and he would finish the entire bottle. In less than an hour.

Alex watched him helplessly. If Yassen was mostly using Alex as an excuse to dodge his own problems, then he probably wouldn’t be too disappointed if things didn’t work out perfectly. Hell, it would probably just create more problems for Yassen to solve. On the other, Alex could sense some weird emotional issues swirling under the surface of the man, ones that he was probably too young to understand. The contract killer had basically dropped everything in his life to take care of a kid he barely knew at great personal risk. Happy, emotionally healthy people didn’t do that, at least so far as he knew.

Yassen liked him though. He’d said it, and for the first time since Gibraltar, Alex believed it.

There was a frightening side to this coin, however: Yassen wasn’t infallible. The child-like part of Alex’s brain had simply assumed the man was immortal, more so now that he’d seen him in active combat. No one was truly invulnerable. He had limits, just not the ones Alex thought. In some weird way, Yassen needed him too. Or at least, needed Alex to need him. It sounded crazy enough that it probably was, but in a way Alex couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by. 

Just two crazy, needy former-operatives on the run having mutual identity crises. Mental health experts around the globe were probably rolling in their graves. At least they had each other for company. 

Yassen took another swig from the bottle, accidentally sloshing his chin and the neck of his shirt as he struggled to line the bottle up with his mouth.

Maybe it wouldn’t kill Alex to take care of him too once in a while.

Alex gently wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle and tried to tug it away. Yassen didn’t open his eyes, but refused to release the vodka. How much more could he drink before his liver threw in the towel? He’d been a chatty drunk up until now, but Alex knew there was a point of diminishing returns. A niggle of nervous fear worked its way into his belly. He had no idea what to do if Yassen passed out from alcohol poisoning. Call emergency services? Try to revive him himself?

“You’re going to be really hungover,” Alex tried. 

Yassen shook his head, eyes still firmly shut as he muttered something slowly. Alex wasn’t confident he was even speaking English anymore. Letting him drink more was obviously a terrible idea, but Yassen seemed committed to keeping his grip on his latest vice. Alex still couldn’t pull the bottle free. 

He sighed. “Why don’t I put this in the freezer to chill?” 

Yassen wrapped both hands around the bottle with a scowl.

The man was clearly past reason. How could he possibly persuade him to let go?

Alex felt his cheeks heat up. Damn it. It wasn’t like he had any better ideas. “Yassen?”

Yassen’s head flopped to the side. He clumsily tucked the bottle under his elbow, obviously suspecting a trap and trying to block Alex from grabbing ahold of it again preemptively. Mumbled something incoherent. 

“Be my mum?” Alex grumbled, trying to wedge his fingers between Yassen’s hand and the bottle. “Just for five minutes. Be my mum for five minutes?”

_ Please let him be too drunk to remember this in the morning. Please, please, please-- _

A solid, humiliating minute creaked past. Yassen released the bottle with a grimace, allowing Alex’s hand to take its place. Alex eased the bottle out of his grasp with his free hand, watching the other man’s face and feeling a bit like Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom. A rolling boulder would be the least worrying issue he could think of, honestly. He set the glass down on the floor, as far out of Yassen’s reach as he could manage. 

Yassen’s hand was warm in his, twitching slightly as the man dwindled into sort of a stupor. 

Alex glared at the wall, hoping with fiber of his being that Yassen didn’t choose this particular moment to open his eyes and sober up; there was the very real chance Alex might die of embarrassment. Damn. Their problems were so weird and awkward. He propped his chin on his free hand, muttering to himself under his breath. Was this how Yassen felt all the time? 

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Here's this weeks' chapter. In line with the theme of last week, there's only one point of view this time: our favorite assassin's.
> 
> Thanks again for all your comments and reviews! It's probably terrible for my ego, but the warm and fuzzy feeling never gets old. :D

Yassen rolled over and tried to shield his eyes from the sharp introduction of light, actually feeling like he was being stabbed through the eyes for a split second before his brain caught up with the sour taste in his mouth. God. Recovering from his bullet wound last year hadn’t felt this awful. He hadn’t had a hangover in years. What had possessed him to drink so much? 

Memory flooded back to him in scattered chunks. He pushed the pillow away from his face long enough to see Alex release the blinds’ rod. The brat seemed almost amused. 

“I told you that you’d be hungover,” the boy informed him, apparently seeing something in his expression. He glanced at the black digital alarm clock beside the TV. It was almost eleven in the morning. “Get up already. I’m hungry.”

Yassen forced himself to sit up, wincing as every atom in his body seemed to protest the motion. He looked around the bed. “Did you throw something at me?”

Alex walked to the bedside table and rattled the orange pill bottle set there. “Last night. Oxycontin.” He hesitated. “I took a quarter tablet already this morning, since you were still asleep. You should probably hold onto the rest, though. I might be building up a tolerance.”

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Yassen rubbed his face and tried to sort through his memories of the night before. Alex had run away. Yassen had tracked him down. Alex hid in the bathroom. Yassen had gotten drunk. Alex had come out of the bathroom. Yassen had… vague memories of a conversation. What he could piece together made him cringe. 

Hopefully Alex would assume it was the hangover. 

Yassen studied him out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his state of mind. The boy seemed calmer, somehow. Not necessarily happy—his pinched face and darting glance to the same corner over and over again told Yassen that he was hallucinating something. The pills might dampen Alex’s sense of urgency and panic, but it was a limited apathy. Whatever plagued him had obviously been worth waking Yassen for distraction. Unusually enough, Alex had already showered and put on his false glasses without prompting. With Yassen awake, the ideal time to steal the car keys and leave had clearly passed. 

Adding to Yassen’s uneasy confusion, Alex apparently got bored with staring at him. He strode over to the small booth inset in the kitchenette and picked up the DS. All of the packaging lay scattered on the table, including that of at least half of the games. Eyes on the little screen, Alex tapped at the console’s buttons, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth slightly as he concentrated.

Alex liked the present now, apparently. Their disjointed, awkward conversation last night seemed to have fixed things. Somehow. To some extent. But how? 

Yassen fought the urge to bury his head in his hands. Even when things were going right, he didn’t fucking understand it. At this point, he would carve off a limb with a rusty spoon to have someone tell him how the hell the little idiot’s brain worked.

After another five minutes of watching Alex play his game, Yassen managed to stumble into the shower. There was no time to dwell and he doubted it would be productive anyway. He dressed as swiftly as he could manage, halting to press his hands against his aching skull and swallow around his dry throat. Christ. He was tempted to steal one of the little pills Alex had presented him with this morning. 

Pausing in the act of brushing his hair, he picked up the bottle and turned it in his hands. Even with Yassen providing a base level of relief, the boy was still obviously driven to find more. That was going to become a problem quickly. Coming clean and giving him the bottle to monitor, however; perhaps his addiction was not as hopeless as Yassen feared. Exhaling softly, Yassen tucked it back into his bag next to the other two and tried to put it out of his mind. 

Food, first. Then driving. Everything else could be dealt with as needed.

Alex glanced up when Yassen returned to the room, feeling half human again. He tossed him a water bottle from the table before he quickly poked at the buttons of the little purple device and shut it with a snap. “You should drink that,” he told him. “Surprise your liver.”

Yassen gave him a flat look. 

Alex shrugged and got to his feet. “Aren’t you always going on about the dangers of dehydration? Set a good example or something.”

Finishing the water, Yassen grabbed his bag and nodded to the door, rifling through his pockets with his other hand for his cigarettes. “What do you want to eat?”

“Milkshakes.”

“Aren’t you sick of ice cream for every meal yet?” Yassen grumbled as Alex followed him to the car with his own bag. 

“You can never get sick of ice cream, Yassen.” Alex climbed into the front seat and rubbed his throat. “Besides, it’s the only thing I don’t throw up. Not as often.”

“How bad are the hallucinations today?” Yassen asked him, fishing out a pair of sunglasses from the glovebox and swapping his false reading glasses. The tinted lenses dimmed the morning light to bearable levels. Reversing, he paused as he realized he’d forgotten to actually smoke his cigarette. He glanced back at the curb, tempted to pull back in.

Alex caught his look and rolled down his window. “Just tap out. I’m not that fragile.”

Yassen conceded the point with a tilt of his head, rolling down the window and lighting up. Alex had been good about exercising. Once cigarette wouldn’t hurt him, so long as Yassen didn’t make a habit of it. “Hallucinations, Alex.”

The boy sighed. “Annoying. Crocodiles came back and Julius showed up for a bit. I dreamt about drowning, but not the waterboarding. Only woke up three times.”

Yassen exhaled a plume of smoke as they ground to a halt in front of a traffic light. The woman in the minivan next to him gave him a dirty look. He took another drag with zero trace of apology. “Any changes?”

Alex shrugged. “Not really. Maybe it’s not wearing off yet.”

The older man nodded, almost to himself and pulled into the first diner he spotted. Stopping to visit  Dr. Wood was fast becoming a priority. There were just too many gaps in his knowledge of the injections, let alone everything else the note attempted to cover. It was risky to approach her, but would be critical to planning their next step. At the very least she might have information on MI6 and the CIA’s response to their escape. Or perhaps she could simply serve as a reassuring reminder that there was someone in the world worse with people than Yassen.

Mindy’s Diner was attached at the hip to gas station, offering access from several entrances despite the mere trickle of customers that seemed to use them. Yassen topped off their fuel while Alex used the restroom. Spotting his chance, Yassen hurried into the shop portion of the station and grabbed the first strawberry flavored protein shake he could find, managing to pay for it and stash it in his pocket before Alex reappeared. Another few minutes later, they’d been seated at a small booth by the entrance and handed menus by a surly looking young man who kept snapping his gum as he finished each sentence, as though to verbally account for punctuation. 

Alex barely glanced at his before ordering his usual strawberry milkshake.

Yassen gave him a borderline helpless look. “Don’t you want anything else?”

Nose scrunched in thought, Alex consulted the menu a second time. Punctuation Enthusiast snapped his gum impatiently, pen poised over his pad. Alex showed him the menu, pointing to something, and got a shrug in response. “Can I add that?”

 “Sure.” Pop. “You want the gummi worms on top or blended in?”

Yassen didn’t bother concealing his eye roll. Why he even tried anymore was beyond him. He excused himself a minute later and caught the waiter around the corner before he managed to disappear into the kitchen. He held up a folded bill and the protein shake. “Fifty bucks to blend this in with the gummi worms.”

The young man considered him and the clearly unopened bottle. Yassen braced himself for the inevitable questions and whatever semi-truthful lies would be required to persuade the man that he wasn’t trying to roofie a teenager. 

With a snap of his gum, Punctuation Enthusiast shrugged and tucked both into his apron pocket. “Sure, man. Whatever.”

Alex was staring at the bubbles in Yassen’s drink, evidently lost in thought as the older man slid into his seat. Yassen would have preferred to let him alone given the persistent pounding in his own temples. Regardless, as much as he sincerely wished to pretend last night had never happened, there were still potential consequences. Just because Alex didn’t seem poised to make a break for it didn’t mean that he wasn’t still considering the idea. Yassen needed to know where his mind was and quickly, especially given Alex’s tendency towards impulsiveness. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

Alex blinked and looked up at him from beneath his oversized glasses. “You’re basically Assassin Batman, aren’t you?”

Yassen choked on his Coke. “What?”

“Think about it,” Alex said, grabbing a paper napkin and shredding it in his hands. “You stick to the shadows, know a million martial arts and languages, and possess indeterminate yet convenient amounts of wealth. You even have dead parents.”

Yassen raised an eyebrow. At least Alex wasn’t moping. A little high, but not miserable. Humoring him was the safe bet. “What about a costume?” he asked. “Have you ever seen me run around in tights?”

“Assassin Batman can’t have a costume. Regular Batman sticks out. You have to blend in,” Alex pointed out. His strawberry milkshake arrived. As their waiter wandered off, he scooped the top portion of pink ice cream onto a spoon and popped it in his mouth. “Don’t worry. It means you’re basically immortal. Ending the franchise would cut into action figure sales.”

Yassen snorted and stared into his bowl of oatmeal. “Does this make you Robin?”

Alex made a face. “Boy Wonder was boring. And he had a stupid name.”

“I guess you could always be Alfred. You even have the accent.”

“I take it back. I’ll be Robin.” Alex traded his spoon for a straw. “So what’s the plan for today?”

Yassen studied him. Alex seemed alert and in a relatively good mood. As much as Yassen was tempted to let his mind spiral down the ‘why’ path again, he should probably abstain and take advantage of the boy’s state while he could. “Your idea to seek out Dr. Wood has some merit. Scottsdale is about ten hours from here, assuming there’s no traffic.”

“Yeah?” Alex perked up. “I thought it was too risky?”

Yassen felt his lips twist. “I’m beginning to think it’s riskier not knowing where her information came from. Her source could be unreliable. At any rate, I intend to find out everything I can from her directly and not rely on what I recall of her chicken scratch.”

“Aw, you miss her too,” Alex said, snorting at Yassen’s expression. “She wasn’t a good therapist, but she was nice. Watching the Jersey Shore won’t be the same without her.”

“Her incompetence was her only redeeming quality,” Yassen countered. “Ironically. Regardless, don’t assume that because she was nice to you that she won’t sell us out. I want to get to Scottsdale and observe before we approach her.”

“Okay.” Alex sucked on his straw, before scowling at it and pulling it out to pluck free the not-quite blended piece of gummy worm blocking it. “What sort of things would you look for in someone you think might be compromised?”

Yassen shook his head. “Let me worry about it.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “I thought you were showing me how to be a good ex-spy on the run. If you want, I can go back to being an ex-spy in prison.”

It was a fair point. Yassen acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. “Most of what you need to know can be accomplished with a stake out. Check to see if she lives at the address she told you about, if anyone unusual approaches the house, if everything seems consistent with what you know about her and her situation. Big changes or large purchases could indicate that she’s accepted money from someone recently. On the other hand, financial difficulties could indicate an issue with paying back debts and provide ample motive for betrayal.”

Alex hummed. “That sounds vague.”

“It’s a bit of an art,” Yassen agreed. “Normally, I’d assign an operative familiar with the region to do preliminary research for me to review. Pull her CIA employment file, bank statements, that sort of thing, after which we’d move on to surveillance. I don’t have those resources anymore, so we’ll have to make do with basic observation and instinct. It’s not perfect, but usually adequate if your mark isn’t really part of the intelligence community. Civilians don’t quite know what to hide, even if a passing familiarity with television crime dramas make them think they do.”

 Alex pushed away his half finished shake. “What if she’s not directly compromised? I mean in the sense of deliberately cooperating with someone to catch us. Maybe the CIA or MI6 or even Scorpia is watching her in case we try to contact her and she doesn’t know it.”

“That’s a possibility.” Yassen leaned back in his seat.  “But I doubt it. The prison files might show that you had reason to trust her but I never said a word to her that didn’t relate exclusively to the X-files. Her input as our therapist would quickly be proven useless, so it’s unlikely they’d consult her more than once. Considering that the United States is far from ideal for the average escaped convict, it’s unlikely that they’d consider her worth surveilling even if we were spotted in Florida a few weeks ago. Truthfully, if our circumstances weren’t so specific, I’d rather we be in a different country by now. At any rate, government surveillance is expensive to maintain and we escaped nearly a month ago. I doubt they’re watching her actively.”

Alex nodded slowly. “How long do you think we need to watch her before we’re sure?”

Yassen shrugged. “Until I’m satisfied. Could be hours, could be days.”

The boy made a face. “This sounds like a lot of time in the car.”

“It is.” Yassen stirred the ice in his coke. “But it’s better than prison.”

“I don’t know about that. Prison was a lot nicer than I thought it would be.”

Yassen snorted. “That was the luxury resort of prisons. Do not make the mistake of assuming they’d send us back to Gibraltar. Especially not if the CIA catches us.”

Alex sobered. “It’s not like we’d have much say over where we get sent anyway.”

“I’d suggest not getting caught in the first place,” Yassen told him. “The best sentence is one you don’t have to serve. Let me worry about it; just try to stay out of trouble.”

“That’s a pipe dream if I’ve ever heard one. You’ve met me, right?” Alex fixed his wry look at the table. “Maybe you’re right. There isn’t much I could do if they catch up to us anyway. I remember a lot of my karate even if I haven’t been practicing my forms, but I don’t think I can do much with it. My muscles are too weak and I don’t weigh enough to throw my force around like I used to.”

Yassen found himself pausing at the underlying tone in his voice. Self-pity and helplessness were paralytics. There wasn’t much he could do about it in Gibraltar or on the cruise ship, but now this might be a problem he could solve. “Generating force and using martial arts are limited methods of fighting anyway. You know perfectly well that a dirty trick in the right moment can level the playing field.”

“I know.” Alex laughed, but the sound faded as he glanced back down at his hands. “But even then, I could just barely manage it and I was in great health.”

Yassen shrugged. “I’ve known agents who could do more with less. Remind me to show you how to break some common holds tonight. The CIA only trains their agents in about a half dozen of them, most of which can be escaped from if you know which muscle cluster to attack.”

Alex groaned, but Yassen didn’t miss the way he straightened in his seat. “This sounds like that school thing again.”

Yassen pretended to think about it. “I suppose I could buy you an anatomy book instead.”

“No, I take it back,” Alex said, shoveling a spoonful of half-melted sugar slurry into his mouth. “We’ll do it the other way.”

  
  



	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! A couple notes this week:
> 
> * This is a REALLY long chapter. I considered breaking things up, but it really didn't split intuitively. I'm sorry and you're welcome.  
> * Galimau has made a second, more thematically loose playlist to enjoy while you read. I'm delighted because she inadvertently included some of the actual songs I was listening to when I wrote this part of the story. Find it here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1VJLyCOWQlcWgcm5umvuc3?si=7MlsMgFoRwyBYrDDXSQqCQ  
> * If you haven't read the short story The White Carnation, one of Yassen's lines might seem weird. (http://bronzelock619.blogspot.com/2015/10/the-white-carnation-alex-rider-04.html). It's a short read if you haven't already.  
> * Also, this chapter totally makes the time period ~obviously~ 2010. Painfully obvious. Fair warning.
> 
> Don't forget to comment or leave a review. I really do love hearing everyone's thoughts, even if I'm terrible at responding. :D

Alex kicked his feet up on the dash for the third time, ignoring Yassen’s annoyed glare until the man actually physically moved his legs. It wasn’t as though his seat reclined any further and his legs were starting to ache after the sixth straight hour in the car, doing “surveillance”. Not that he’d expected it to be any more exciting. He sighed and dug into his bag until he found his latest Twizzlers. They were a weird promotional flavor, Key Lime Pie, though Alex thought they tasted like lime scented pencils. It didn’t really matter since he was eating out of boredom.

“I don’t think she’s doing anything,” he pointed out for the fifteenth time. Wished Briar would leave the damn house and go see a film, hopefully offering him the chance to persuade Yassen that they should do the same. You know. For surveillance’s sake.

“Exactly,” Yassen said, returning his gaze to the little house they’d parked behind. 

It was a small property, done up in stucco in a vague imitation of Pueblo revival. The front garden wasn’t particularly well cared for, though it seemed that Briar and her sister had eschewed the traditional lawn for cacti and other apocalypse-proof plants instead. The brick mailbox had been slathered in as many stickers as Alex had expected, though an effort seemed to have been made to paint over them recently. Fortunately, the houses in this neighborhood were older and had a small back alley that all of them could access their garages by, but seemed to warehouse a bunch of parked cars instead, some of which hadn’t been moved in months judging from the dirt and missing wheels. Fortunately, this meant their car didn’t stick out, but had a decent view of the front and side of the property. 

His lips thinned. “She was sent back almost a month ago and she spends all day at home. It’s Tuesday. A work day.”

“She’s sulking, Yassen. People sulk when they get fired.” Alex shrugged and tore off another chunk of licorice with his teeth. “Besides, her sister’s been in and out all morning. Perhaps she’s supporting both of them. Briar might have been suspended or put on probation for doing such a shitty job. Maybe she’s working remote.”

Yassen studied the back street for a long minute. “Perhaps.”

“What?” Alex pulled his seat upright and glanced around. “Does something else seem off?”

Yassen’s brow furrowed. “Not necessarily. I just have this feeling…”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “An instinct thing?”

“No. I’m irritated.” Yassen looked back at the house, as though it were to blame for something. “Preemptively irritated.”

“What does that mean?” Sitting upright to follow his gaze, Alex did likewise.

The rear door ripped open unexpectedly, bouncing the car as someone slid into the backseat. “Oh, I thought that was you guys! I wish you could have called ahead, I’d have planned on--”

Yassen whipped around, gun drawn. “Where did you come from?”

Briar didn’t seem to pay much attention to the firearm, at least until she saw Alex’s look. “Oh, no, sweetie. It’s fine. I’ve got, like, four in the house and one in my purse. My dad was super Republican. I’ve got a permit and everything. He didn’t even take the safety off.” 

She turned back to Yassen and pointed at a spot behind someone’s shed. “There’s a little path that winds between some of the properties. Someone’s grandma complained about school kids on this street a decade back so someone’s son installed shortcuts. Doubt the city knows about them. Anyway, we should probably drive somewhere else: Rose is super nosy. Also, you picked, like, the one day I don’t have a bunch of CIA cops parked in front waiting for a warrant. Good job, but probably not a lucky break we want to push.” She waved a hand at Yassen’s sudden shift in stance. The safety flicking off echoed in the little car. “Unrelated murder investigation. I totally did it, but I don’t think they can prove it yet. It’s a long story. Anyway, we should probably go to a coffee shop or something if you want to talk about Smithers. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you two! I’m so excited you broke out! They came to interview me, but I didn’t know anything useful so I didn’t get to hear much. You have to tell me everything!”

Alex laughed, unable to help himself. “Hello, Briar. It’s nice to see you too.”

She leaned forward, sliding her hand over the headrest to tug on the top of his head. “Look at your hair. I didn’t realize it had gotten so long. You look so weird as a brunette--”

Yassen jerked the gun at her, eyes flat. “How much did you tell them?”

She shrugged. “Nothing that would hurt you. Or that they couldn’t already get from reviewing prison records. Alex was sedated and delusional. You were in fine mental and physical health. Once they realized my therapy notes were mostly bullshit, they cut our interview short and sent me away before I could ask anything about your escape. Was it like in the movies? Did you tunnel your way out?”

“Yassen hijacked a terrorist helicopter,” Alex told her.

Yassen gave him a look. Alex sighed and shut up. The assassin turned back to Briar. “What else do they know?”

She shook her head and peered out the windshield over Yassen’s shoulder at her house. “Not a lot. Someone asked me for my impressions of you two, but I got the feeling that they weren’t taking him seriously. I figured, fuck it. Why shouldn’t I throw MI6 under the bus? I took the opportunity to point out that Alex’s crazy seemed unnatural and that MI6 was being really shady about it. Oh, and that I thought it was unlikely you would hurt him. Can we drive now?”

Yassen glared.

“What? All they have to do is watch the footage at the prison to figure that out. It’s not like they’d actually believe you’d taken him hostage anyway.” Briar seemed to realize that she’d never let go of Alex’s hair. She patted it once and removed her hand. “Okay, some advice for you, kiddo: conditioner. Lots of conditioner. First rule of long hair.”

“Are you currently cooperating with any agencies to bring us in?”

Briar shook her head, widening her eyes for emphasis. “No. I’m not even working for the CIA anymore; I’m on extended leave. Got a job as a college career counsellor lined up next semester though. The work’s sure to be kind of bland, but I expect it will give me way less anxiety. No offence, kiddo.” She looked out the window again and crossed her arms. “Okay, seriously, my sister will be back soon. We need to get going. Any coffee shop or sketchy bar you want, Yassen. Just drive.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at Yassen. So far, none of his red-flags had been tripped. Experience had made him paranoid of most intelligence agents who promised to help him, but this was Briar. She was just so ...ineffective. Lying would be complicated for her given how much she liked to talk. Maybe Yassen was sensing some sort of threat that he wasn’t, but Alex was getting hungry and coffee sounded nice.

The contract killer grimaced and lowered the gun. “Fine. Do you have a phone on you?”

Briar dug into her purse and pulled out a smartphone with a slide out qwerty board. Yassen pointedly rolled down the window and she groaned. “Seriously? It’s new. Can’t I just take it back to the house?”

“No.”

She grimaced and reached out the window to set it on the lip of a trash bin that had been pulled to the curb. “There. The things I do for you two. Christ.” 

“Toss the gun.”

Briar huffed. “This thing is registered under my name, you know.” She hefted her purse and handed it to Alex. “Here, he can hold it.”

Alex popped open the clasp and looked inside. A petite 9mm Ruger had been tucked into one of the pockets. The handle had been professionally glittered with some kind of silver lacquer. He held the purse open for Yassen to see. “Isn’t it adorable?”

“Any other electronics?” the Russian demanded.

“Just the little calendar thing Smithers sent me. I was going to show it to you. It’s got all of our letters to each other saved on it.”

Alex cleared his throat and pulled out the device in question from the depths of the handbag. “I don’t think we have to worry about Smithers, Yassen. He’s helped me before and I don’t think he’d sell us out.”

“You can’t be certain of that.” Yassen glanced again at the woman in his backseat. “Did you ever meet in person with him and confirm his identity?”

“No, but Alex is probably right,” Briar said, eyes flicking to Alex. “His letters mentioned several times the risks he was facing if he got caught. I work for the CIA, so I’m pretty sure someone would cover my ass if only so they can deal with me internally. Isn’t even sending me this a form of treason for this guy? I doubt he’d put a tracker on it or anything MI6 could use. Too much to lose. It’s got a self-destruct-by-fireworks feature, though.”

Alex laughed again as he opened it. A small digital screen unexpected flickered to life. The menu emerged, with timestamps the only thing used to identify their letters. A rush of warmth spread through him as he began skimming. “It’s him. It’s definitely Smithers.”

O

Yassen enjoyed the heat of the coffee cup in his palm, but didn’t drink. The coffee shop he’d picked was larger than he’d anticipated based on the exterior, though that ended up working to his advantage. The walls were a blend of brick and drywall, though every non-brick wall had been painted a slightly different color. They were able to find a booth in the back, just far enough from the hallway to the restrooms and back exit that they wouldn’t be overheard over the coffee grinders, but close enough that Yassen would have three exits (including the one behind the counter) should anything seem off. 

Having accepted Yassen’s trade of dessert for the little digital book, Alex was happily sucking down his blended Frappuccino-something. Judging from a casual inspection of the ingredients list, it essentially amounted to a coffee flavored milkshake. 

He sighed. At least it wasn’t strawberry. 

For his part, Yassen did his best to stay aware of everything around him while he studied the letters. Briar had remained in intermittent contact with Smithers after she’d been fired: she’d sent a number of terse notes explaining her removal as well as a few updates as she was questioned by both the CIA and MI6. There was nothing in those messages of particular interest to him, beyond what she’d already explained. 

Briar herself seemed unconcerned with his commandeering of the device. Legs crossed and leaning back in her chair, she was cheerfully complaining about her sister’s taste in men to Alex. Gone were the high heels and muted office attire. Briar Wood in her natural environment dressed more like a college student that had never quite managed to roll out of bed enough to graduate: sweatpants, a loose t-shirt that had seen better days, and a pair of sandals that might have been old enough to have witnessed the crucifixion. A bouncing, untidy ponytail could barely contain her seemingly unwashed hair, which abruptly reverted to her natural, darker color an inch from the root. Yassen hadn’t exactly expected her to be a fashionista, but based off of what he’d seen at the prison he wouldn’t have guessed she was such a slob. Figured.

“Anyway, after he’d tried to get her to co-sign on a sports car for the third time, I told her she had a choice to make. Either she could ruin her credit by going through with it or she could book us both an all expenses paid vacation to Rome. Either way she’d be broke, but at least with my idea she’d get to enjoy it too and have something to post on Facebook.” Briar rolled her eyes. “That seemed to finally get through to her. You know, at least until the next--”

Yassen swept the little device shut, eager to prevent her from going on. He was beginning to get a headache. “Is there anything you know or found out that isn’t in here?”

“Probably not.” She consulted the bottom of her iced tea. “Well, other than the fact that they’ve basically erased Alex from the internet. Not even Brookland’s newsletter articles about you winning those karate tournaments are around anymore.”

Alex stiffened in his seat. “What?”

“Your Facebook is gone too. So is every other social media account you ever talked about.” Briar looked at him and patted his arm. “It’s okay. It’s therapeutic to unplug for awhile.”

Yassen considered this, keeping half an eye on Alex to monitor just how upset this news seemed to be. Alex preferred not to draw attention to himself even under ideal circumstances, so he assumed it wouldn’t be a huge problem. Probably not panic attack worthy. 

Erasure made a certain kind of sense-- information about Alex as a spy in the field seemed to have been sloppily contained, so the link to Alex’s normal life as a schoolboy would have to be destroyed in order to compensate. It was a prudent move, one MI6 had performed dozens of times for their agents. Even so, Yassen couldn’t help but suspect that when they’d sent Alex to prison, they’d essentially binned him permanently. Smithers’ input seemed to suggest the same: that the injections were a last ditch effort to salvage the usability of the unstable little spy. 

But he’d only become unstable because of the injections in the first place. It seemed like an unnecessary loss. Was Alex really so unusable as he aged? Yassen doubted it. Adults made effective spies as a general rule. The biggest threat to his service, in Yassen’s estimation, was his lack of obscurity and training. That wouldn’t be fixed regardless of how old he looked. 

Why risk so much on giving him the experimental drugs in the first place? Run of the mill hormone suppressors would have slowed his aging, if not prevented it as effectively. Surely that was the better option if Alex’s youth was so critical to his success-- at least his judgement and ability to stay under cover would remain intact.

Also concerning was Smithers assertions that Alex was being given unprecedentedly large doses for far longer than had been studied. The casual mention of brain damage was also alarming, but Yassen stubbornly shoved that concern down. (Alex was fine. It wasn’t as though he could do anything about it anyway.) What really worried him was withdrawal: if it took 90 days for the low dosage patients to complete the process, how much longer could Alex’s take? It could easily be half a year or more before the hallucinations quieted and--

Oh, god. Alex’s birthday was in February. The assassin stiffened in his seat. He would be sixteen in just over a month and he could still pass for twelve with only mild effort. Alex was running out of time to catch up if he wanted to have a chance of being a normal school boy. 

There had to be a way to fix this. Yassen had to find a way to fix this.

Alex shoved his hair out of his face. “Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. That’s just what--” he stopped and took a deep breath, staring at his lap.

Yassen felt his stomach sink. He knew that look. “What?”

“It’s not that I was attached to my Facebook friends, it’s just….” he trailed off, twisting his hands. He sucked in another deep breath, blinking hard. “We didn’t really print photos at home. Not many. It’s not like I can go back and get those anyway, so all of what I had of me and Jack was what she posted...”

Briar put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. You have your memories--”

Yassen winced at the same time Alex yanked his shoulder away and stood. Alex’s memories weren’t exactly something the boy seemed to trust or find comfort in anymore. It might be like his hair-- Alex needed physical anchors and evidence in order to trust reality. The boy started heading towards the back exit. “It’s not the same.”

Yassen held up the car keys wordlessly. Alex hesitated for a split second before snatching them from his hand and disappearing. He’d probably want to be alone for a bit and that car was his most private option. Yassen grimaced and looked around. “Can you smoke in here?”

Briar raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “No, but they have a patio in the front where you can. Technically. It’s open to the street.”

Yassen grimaced and decided to delay his nicotine rush. There was no helping it, no matter how much his fingers twitched with want. “Nevermind.”

Briar studied him, eyes… sympathetic. “How are things? Now that he’s not getting injections, has he been better?”

Yassen considered his coffee. The information had little real tactical value to his enemies; Alex’s condition in prison had been thoroughly documented and was unlikely to change in a few weeks, even with the added element of being on the run. He might do well to give a little ground-- Briar’s motivations seemed to stem purely out of concern for the boy, so if he didn’t allow her some measure of satisfaction, she might not be as willing to answer the rest of questions. As unconcerned as she seemed that he would kill her, there were natural limits people had with the level of detail they’d offer without trust. 

Interrogating her was still an option, of course. She likely had no training on how to resist it, but that would unnecessarily burn a bridge that might well prove useful later. Explaining what he’d done and why to Alex would be its own little nightmare.

“He’s been….” Yassen struggled to find the right word in any language he knew. Gave up. “Yes and no. He’s more lucid. When he’s not high.”

Briar’s eyes widened. “Oh, right. His drug problem. How did he get his hands on that stuff?”

“He’s resourceful,” Yassen pointed out. “And fairly good at stealing. I didn’t realize it was so advanced until he starting detoxing from his medications and took matters into his own hands…”

Yassen had no idea why he was still talking, fifteen minutes later. It just poured out of him. Perhaps everything had taken a greater toll on him than he’d realized. A vague, relieved sensation spread through him, urging him to spill words like running water over a burn. It wasn’t like he particularly liked Briar-- if anything she annoyed him almost every time she opened her mouth-- but she was listening and she understood what Alex was like. Yassen didn’t realize he needed those two things more right now than he needed to trust someone. 

Life on the run with Alex. Evolving hallucinations. Hell on a cruise ship. His constant paranoia that he was failing at basic care as things escalated. Enabling and even facilitating Alex’s chemical dependency. Their discussions of his past missions. His run-away attempt and subsequent reversal. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Yassen admitted. “I know nothing about taking care of children or teenagers. I don’t know anything about drug dependency or detox. As far as medicine is concerned, I can set a bone and stitch myself up, but I don’t know what to do if he overdoses. I’m hideously out of my depth at all of this except evading capture.”

“Most people would be,” Briar told him, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “Seriously, most mental health professionals spend most of their time winging it. To be honest, you seem weirdly perfect for the job. Staying out of prison is the biggest problem on Alex’s plate and you’ve got that covered. Beyond that, your instincts with him seem good.”

Yassen snorted. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“Every single one.” Briar spread her fingers and pressed them down on the table, glaring down at the surface and sighing. A new energy seemed to have seized her limbs. “I wish I had a week to put this all together for you. There’s charts and studies and care plans I could dig up that might help, but I don’t think we have that kind of time. Seriously, understanding why people are unhappy is the only part of psychology that I’m good at. The only part.”

Yassen rolled his eyes but waved his hand to indicate that she should continue. As much as he doubted the usefulness of whatever she was about to say, letting her feel involved would work in his favor. 

Besides, she had listened to him first and it seemed fair.

Briar clenched her fists, face scrunching as she summoned the proper words. “It sounds like Alex is going through a huge fracture in identity right now. I’d say that from what you’ve told me, it’s clear that he’s had at least two nervous breakdowns since you left. At least.”

Yassen stared at her. “I think I preferred it when you said I was doing a good job.”

“What I’m saying is that there’s only so much that can be done by anyone other than Alex but that your instincts are good.” Briar pushed her coffee cup to the side. “God, I wish I had a whiteboard. Okay, first let’s walk through what big shifts he’s had to go through mentally. When Alex thought he was dead, it was his attempt to reconcile how helpless he felt in the face of his mental illness and how very little he could do about his situation. I got a strong sense from him that he was used to being independent and self-reliant, so being helpless and dependant was incredibly painful and frustrating for him. I think it might have also been a sign of an emerging sense of self-hatred.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s this phrase he used when he thought he was dead. ‘I can’t help being the way I am’. This sense that he was being punished for who he was on a fundamental level.” Briar grimaced. “Given that he was aware of how MI6 used his own nature against him, it follows that he’d come to hate the traits in himself that made it possible for them to do so.”

Yassen rubbed his eyes. That did sound like Alex. What the hell could he do about that? “And?”

“And admitting he wasn’t dead was hard. Before, he had only himself to blame for what he was but none of the responsibility for figuring out what to do about it. Accepting that he was still alive meant the opposite.”

“He did seem more grounded,” Yassen pointed out. “He wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but between the worsening hallucinations, he seemed to at least be thinking of the future. He was more like himself.” 

Briar nodded, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. “Right, but then you had to discuss all of his missions.” 

Yassen stared at her over the rim of his own cup. “You think that was a mistake.”

“Not at all. It was a necessity. It would have come up eventually.” She held up a hand with a wince. “It did, however, kick off his second giant mental shift: the idea that his uncle manipulated his childhood so that he would grow up to be a spy.”

Yassen twitched in his seat. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

“In therapy, Alex seemed aware that his upbringing had contributed to his credentials as a spy, but he didn’t imply it had been done deliberately. However, in your conversation with him, that thought inspired a lot of anxiety. There are two psychological implications here, Yassen: the first is that he could no longer trust his memories or understanding of the past, and the second, his identity took another hit.”

Yassen stared into his cold coffee. “He said that he couldn’t be that Alex anymore. That someone else had been playing him in his life like a video game character.”

“Exactly. I can only imagine that Alex’s concept of self-identity was already fractured and weak at the time, but to think that even his personality traits had been hand-selected for him-- even if he wasn’t certain or couldn’t prove that his uncle had done such a thing-- would have easily put him into another crisis.” Briar propped her chin in her hand, glancing away to study a nearby table. Yassen had long since been aware of the two teens shrieking with laughter-- they weren’t close enough to overhear. “That sort of thing doesn’t resolve overnight. Especially since Alex uses suppression and distraction to cope. His new environment doesn’t really play well with that and I’m not sure he’s adapted yet.”

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose. “So that’s why he tried to run away? It wasn’t that I was being too nice to him?”

“That actually has to do with Alex’s nebulous sense of personal value. We’ll get there,” Briar said. She took a quick sip of her tea. “But that’s in conjunction with everything else he was already going through.”

Yassen fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. It was a close thing. “Nebulous sense of personal value? Where does that fit in?”

“We touched on it earlier. He’s used to being independent, self-reliant, and to some extent, saving other people. Now he can’t be left unattended for more than a few hours at a time, needs you constantly for everything, is addicted to pills, and is too weak for all that action hero bullshit. The way he valued himself before has been obliterated by his situation. Most humans define themselves by what they offer. It’s how we orient ourselves.” Briar half nodded as though having a separate conversation in her head. Yassen declined to ask. “If Alex doesn’t feel like he contributes anything, than any effort or kindness you offer him is not only wasted, but is leaving you net negative. The more he likes you, the more problematic this becomes. That’s what his run away attempt was about, I think.”

Yassen stared at the table. “This is a lot of things.”

“Oh, these are the biggest problems. He has a lot more. Abandonment issues, a hero complex. I suspect his relationship with his uncle was unhealthy too, since he outright refused to discuss it. It’s never easy with this kid, is it?” Briar held up her fingers. “But it’s better that you know this than not. Let’s sum up. One, Alex has a fractured sense of self identity. This is problematic because this addresses what he thinks of himself right now. Two, Alex cannot trust his past or find comfort in his memories. This is problematic because that is how we look to our history when our sense of ‘now’ gets confusing. Three, his nebulous sense of the value he offers others now makes a happy future impossible to visualize. If you can’t understand your past or your present, you’ve got nothing to project into the future with. That’s why he can’t take comfort in the future you are trying to give him.”

Yassen set his cup down, voice harsh. It wasn’t like he wasn’t already emotionally compromised anyway. He should have never said anything to her. If anything, he felt  _ less _ prepared to tackle Alex’s problems. “So what do I do about it? I can’t handle this. I can barely handle him now. Do I get him a therapist? Take him to a mental hospital? He’ll just wind up in jail if I do either of those.”

Briar shook her head. “Oh, no those things would probably just make it worse. He won’t trust a new adult and he’d be lonely in a mental hospital. Isolation would make his condition unbearable: I’d consider him at risk of suicide in that kind of environment. You’re actually doing okay just trusting your instincts.”

Yassen glared at her, disbelief radiating off of him. 

“You have him stable, sober-ish, and semi-functioning. That’s the best he can do right now under ideal conditions. It’s going to take time for him to sort through it all.” Briar gestured to Yassen. “Seriously, though. Even though you two are terrible communicators, you have a sense of what’s going on with him. Nothing I’ve said seems to surprise you.”

Yassen reluctantly nodded. “Not that it's done me any good.”

“It has,” she insisted. “Think about it. Whenever he felt helpless, you responded by teaching him skills like barricades or breaking holds. Yeah, you didn’t fix the core problem, but it gave him a mental band-aid to get him through the day. You can’t do anything to improve the way he views the past without lying, but you also haven’t encouraged him to pretend everything was fine. Believe me, most people would  rush to assure him that his uncle and Blunt had the best of intentions. They’d mean to make him feel less taken advantage of, but would have instead promoted a greater sense of uncertainty and self-doubt.”

Yassen scoffed. “So I didn’t make it worse. What an achievement.”

“It helped.” Briar raised an eyebrow. “Even that drunk conversation you were so vague about did. Relax, I’m not going to ask for details. They don’t matter. You said it yourself-- it fixed something in a way you didn’t understand. I bet you that if he ran away because he felt like he was taking value from you, that something you said convinced him that he was giving you some in return. Maybe not something rock solid, but enough to calm him temporarily.”

Alex’s awkward, earnest expression in the motel room, surrounded by the hazy gray light of the television set.  _ So you get something out of helping me? It’s not just you giving and me taking? _

Yassen stared at his hands. “If I’ve barely kept him afloat on accident, what do I do now? I can’t just hope that my instincts stay on point forever. Not with the problems he has.”

Briar nodded. “I know. He’ll need long term treatment. You mentioned it off and on. I assume you have something of a plan for that?”

Yassen nodded.

“Good. Until then, at least now you understand some of his problems. I can give you some suggestions, but they’re pretty basic. Like I said, this is the only part of the field I’ve got nailed.”

“Back seat diagnosis?” he muttered.

Briar scowled and folded her arms. “Oh, come on. I’m good at this, just not the professionalism stuff. And consistency is an issue too. And not with strangers. Now, do you want my advice or not?”

Yassen sighed. Statistically, he supposed she had to be good at something. Some of what she’d said lined up with things Yassen already believed. It was worth a listen. “Go ahead.”

“He can’t picture his own future right now. He’s too emotionally disoriented to do so, much less have enough trust in it being good to look forward to it. Especially-- and this is me reading between the lines-- if it’s going to be somewhere he’s never been before. I would help him picture it by describing it as much as you can.” She shrugged and spread her hands. “Tell him all about it. The quirky customs he might find strange. The boring landscape. How often it rains compared to London. The food you think he’ll like based off of his palate. Anything you can to make him feel like it’s a real thing that will happen.”

Yassen tried not to sigh. That sounded far too simple. “I thought his other problems prevented him from caring about the future.”

Briar held up a finger. “That’s why this is a three pronged attack, Yassen. You have three main problems to contend with and they all feed each other. That’s just the first. Next, you need to help him find a new sense of value. Whatever you told him before, hit that button again. And again. Come up with other ways that he offers you benefit. Concrete examples that he can point to when he’s too upset to be objective are best. Does he have any responsibilities or chores right now?”

Yassen stared at her. “He can barely remember today’s date. Why would I make him do menial work? He shouldn’t have to worry about that stuff.”

“It doesn’t have to be hard, it just has to be useful. Help him feel useful, Yassen.” She leaned back in her chair and waved a vague hand. “Have him do the laundry or something.”

“We don’t have laundry. We’re on the run. We just buy new clothes.”

“So start doing laundry and make it his job. Or have him clean out the car at the end of the night. Or keep lookout. Or remind you of things. I know you’re trying to give him less things to worry about, but it’s not as helpful as you think. How can he be invested in a life that doesn’t require him to happen? His efforts don’t matter or alter the outcome, so in a way, he doesn’t matter. To echo his words, an action figure could take his place. Even adults get depressed living like that. Let him feel like he’s helping you out, not just the other way around.”

Yassen considered the black depths of his untouched drink. “Fine. What else?”

“Help him sort out his identity. This one is going to be the trickiest.” She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, staring out at the hallway as she sifted through her thoughts. “There’s a lot of components. Maybe just point out his non-spy traits to him? If he’s afraid that his personality was handcrafted for him, pointing out where he’s gone off the reservation, so to speak, will probably go a long way in helping him self-soothe.”

Yassen stared at her. “I have no idea how to go about that.”

She shrugged. “Personally, I’d use the phrase ‘You’re such a something person, Alex’ a lot. ‘Something’ can be any adjective you want. Dramatic. Empathetic. Artistic. I don’t know, tell him he’s fucking elegant for all it matters. Whatever Alan Blunt wouldn’t approve of is fair game.”

“Isn’t that essentially what his uncle did?” Yassen sat back in his seat and studied her under the warm, artificial light. “I won’t rewrite his personality and manipulate him into accepting it.”

She shook her head. “You’re not picking what you want him to be. Don’t lie. Don’t prescribe traits you think are good for him; look for the traits he already has but rarely has pointed out to him. That’s it. Describe his personality to him the way you would a painting to someone over the phone. Focus on the stuff that doesn’t make him a good spy. He’s changed a lot in the last two years and I’m not convinced that he ever updated his self-image. This is just to help him reconcile that with what he is now. He can decide who he wants to be later.”

Yassen settled down. “I might be able to do that. What else?”

“That’s the short list. It should help you calm him down while you find him professional help. He’ll probably have some blow ups anyway. Kid’s got more drugs in his system than the goddamn Rolling Stones and I’m not counting whatever he stole.” She studied him for a long handful of seconds. “If you need something else to work on, work on talking to him. Keep a pulse on what he needs. It’s good for you too, you know.”

“I’m not worried about me.”

Briar shrugged. “I know. You’ll figure your own stuff out.”

Yassen felt his eyes narrow. “Have me analyzed as well then?”

Briar met his gaze without flinching. “Humans are alike, Yassen. It sounds boring but it’s not. I’m not going to try to get into your head. You’re already working on your problems.”

Yassen scoffed, rage encroaching on his stomach. After everything he’d told her, she was using it to try and detect the chinks in his armor. Had helping Alex been secondary all along? Maybe he should have never opened his mouth. “No, go ahead. By all means. Tell me.”

She studied him with her head tilted just so. “Why?”

He jerked a hand at the table. “I want to know how full of shit you are.”

Briar deflated, staring down at her nails with tired eyes. “That’s up to you. Keep whatever I said that makes sense and discard the rest. I’m not going to convince you to do otherwise, so we can both save ourselves the trouble.”

“Or you’re concealing your utter lack of knowledge on the subject.”

“Why would I bother?” she demanded, head jerking up so that her eyes could bore into his. “I could have offered to read tarot cards and you would have taken me about as seriously. You think I don’t know that?” 

Yassen didn’t answer.

Something about her seemed to burn. “My reputation precedes me. I’ve been called incompetent to my face so many times that no one has to say it aloud anymore. You know what? I’ve earned it. I checked out a long time ago. I took a job where I wasn’t needed because I didn’t even trust myself to give textbook advice to other murderers.” She leaned forward. “I don’t regret what I did. We all wanted to forget why we were in Gibraltar, you included. I was fine with that. I’d almost succeeded until some stupid kid showed up and needed me to give a fuck for ten minutes a day. Ten minutes a day of doing my job was all it took to upset the little world I was living in. I don’t need you to remind me of my limitations and what they’ve netted me, Yassen: I am well aware.”

Yassen considered her. “Who did you kill?”

“My instructor at the academy. I don’t want to get into why, but he deserved it and I don’t feel bad. I thought I would. I waited for regret to send me into a nervous breakdown, but it never did.” She shrugged, eyes tight and cold. “Crazy, right? I’ll probably be in prison by next week or next year. They can’t prove I did it yet, but given enough time they’ll probably find something. I don’t have a convenient job outside of the country anymore to hide behind. Whatever. It’s fine.”

“Why did you sneak us the note, then? Why dig into Alex’s injections?” Yassen demanded. The coffee shop had nearly emptied, but he kept his voice low and soft regardless. All attention was bad attention. His firearm rested heavy against his side. “If your situation was so precarious, why risk it?”

Briar rubbed at her eyes and shook her head. “I didn’t think about it. I just did it. By the time I realized what was going to happen, it was too late.” She exhaled harshly. “It’s alright. Really. I’ll just go to prison. Just get the kid away from MI6 and it will have been worth something, okay?”

Yassen didn’t say anything for a long minute. When he did speak, his voice was cold. “You must realize this gives you ample motive to betray Alex and I. I have no reason to think you won’t immediately call the CIA and try to strike a deal to avoid your own problems, if you haven’t already.”

Briar actually laughed at that. “Sure. Of course I could. I won’t, because wanting to help Alex overshadowed my self-preservation in the first place, but I get that you can’t trust me. If it’ll really make you feel better, you can shoot me right now and be done with it.”

Yassen tensed, looking for the hint of a lie. Some tell tale sign that she was wearing a wire.

“Seriously,” she said, something a little bit sad creeping into her expression. Something wistful. “Now’s the time. He’s still in the car. He doesn’t have to know. You can just shoot me now and I won’t have to figure out if I’m going to prison or not.”

“You want me to help you commit suicide?” Yassen demanded. 

“Outsourcing it makes sense.” She laughed again. It wasn’t a happy sound. “I’d probably suck at it if I tried, just like everything else. Go ahead. There’s no cameras in here. I saw you check. The barista isn’t even paying attention. Now’s the time. You can be in and out.”

He studied her. He hadn’t seen it before, though he should have. The utter lack of concern spanning from her tenure at the prison to the gun pointed at her not more than an hour ago. The near-inappropriate cheer. Her involvement at all. She’d been on the edge for some time, though how long was up to debate. Her slovenly appearance suggested it had taken a turn for the worse recently, unless work had been her only reason to shower regularly in the first place. Maybe she wasn’t strictly suicidal, but she was clearly found some measure of relief in the idea of not being alive. Perhaps it was why she could wrap her head around Alex’s mental state in the first place. Whether or not she’d betray them was hard to say, but it was clear she’d stopped caring about her own life, just not enough to be decisive about it on her own.

At least, some new part of Yassen hoped she wasn’t. She’d listened to him after all, had tried to help them both. He didn’t like her, but there was something valuable about the woman. Something intangible and odd. Annoying. Something he’d be a little sad to think didn’t exist.

“Don’t make it my problem,” he told her. “I already have enough.”

“That you do.” She didn’t move.

“And don’t be such a coward,” he added, after the silence had stretched long enough to unsettle him. “There’s no tunnel so long it doesn’t have a light at the other end of it.”

That summoned the ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips. “You’re a strange assassin, Yassen. It’s alright. You have a point. Happiness striking me is as inevitable as anything else, like paying taxes or needing an oil change. I’m just not sure I believe it right now. Same goes for you too.”

Yassen glanced at his own hands. “Just don’t do anything stupid. They’re talking about rebooting the X-Files, you know. You’ll miss it.”

She laughed outright at that. “They’re always saying that. Where did you hear it?”

Yassen rolled his eyes. “Alex likes these stupid reality shows that run on the same channel as a dozen Hollywood rumor reports. I leave them on sometimes. The noise helps him sleep.”

“Very well, you’ve made your case. I guess I can wait around for the X-Files.” Briar propped her chin in her hand, bracing her arm on the table. “You might have to call me in lockup to tell me what you think, but I’m sure you’ll find a way. I wonder how much of the original cast they’ll get to sign on.”

Yassen grimaced. That’d teach him not to try and talk someone out of offing themselves. Now he’d committed to keeping up with Duchovny’s lackluster performance for the rest of his wooden-faced career. Wonderful. “It may be my most foolish use of an untraceable phone line yet, but sure.”

Briar glanced back at the door Alex had disappeared out of maybe a half hour ago. “So what do you want to do?”

Yassen raised an eyebrow. “That’s a broad question.”

“I suppose it is.” Briar twisted her fingers around a small chain necklace around her neck. An ornate, ugly cactus pendant spun in her hands. “I meant today. I can’t think of anything else I can tell you that will be of help.”

Yassen considered her. There was nothing to indicate that she’d betrayed them already. She had plenty of motive to do so in the future, yet for some reason, it didn’t seem feasible. Shutting down her suicide talk had been an admittedly emotional response, but he realized that it might actually work in his favor. He didn’t have to actually trust her in order to get her to trust him. “You said that you were interviewed?”

Briar nodded. “I had an exit interview first. That was MI6. Mostly it seemed geared towards transitioning my patient notes. It was the same evening I was fired, so I don’t think you’d escaped yet. I was on a plane back to the states when the military charter got notification that I was to be redirected to London instead of Langley. My boss was nine kinds of upset about it. Broke a bunch of protocol.”

Yassen nodded. “Where in London?”

“Some kind of military base. There was a lot of waiting. After a while, they put me in a secure hotel room with two guards. At the time, I thought they’d found my note to you or that Smithers had been discovered. I was certain I was about to disappear into the bowels of bureaucracy or end up at the bottom of some river.” Briar shook her head. “I stole one of the agents cell phones and called my boss. He hadn’t been properly notified of the diverted flight and was furious.”

Yassen raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure that endeared you to MI6.”

She shrugged. “I don’t work for them. Now, I realize it was silly to think they were going to do anything but interview me, but in the moment I didn’t know you’d escaped. I didn’t mention any of my fears to Rathers-- that’s my boss. I just told him I was being held and that I hadn’t received confirmation from him and needed instructions. He called MI6 directly. Within the hour, they drove me to that bank Alex talked about. My interview took maybe thirty minutes and they had me back on a plane immediately.”

“What did they ask you exactly?”

“I don’t remember. By then, someone had reviewed all of my case notes and passed along the idea that I wasn’t exactly a wealth of information. They had me give a statement about my role at the prison before they ended the interview. All I knew was that you’d escaped with Alex and they wanted to know if either of you had said anything that would indicate that it was planned. I said no and that was that. After that, some lower level guy managed to gain access to me. Agent Daniels, I think. We talked for maybe ten minutes before they arrived to take me.”

Yassen looked at her sharply. “Agent Ben Daniels?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“He worked with Alex on a handful of missions.” Yassen scrutinized her expression for any hint of deception. “Didn't you read his files?”

“His heavily redacted files,” she told him. “Very few names. Some missions were a paragraph long. Anyways, if he worked with Alex that makes a lot more sense. He really, really wanted to know how he’d been and whether or not you’d hurt him.”

Yassen hesitated. He had little else to go on but Alex’s retellings, but he knew the man had been one of the SAS men to more or less bully Alex through training. It shouldn’t have been enough to form an opinion, yet here he was, already disliking the man. “Go on.”

“I told him the truth, just not the important parts. That Alex was completely out of it most days and not getting great treatment. I mentioned that some of his symptoms seemed odd and mentioned that MI6 had yet to come through with any real resources for him.” Briar sighed. “Beyond that, I couldn’t really answer his questions. He wanted to know why you’d taken him. How you treated him. I told him not to worry. Joked, that if anything, you were so used to minding him that you’d dragged him along out of habit.”

Yassen scoffed. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate. “Did he tell you anything in exchange?”

“He told me he was worried, but he seemed under the clock. Rushed through my questions and tried to get as much info out of me as he could. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an official chat.” She let out a frustrated huff. “Now that I know that he knows Alex, I should have made him tell me more. I thought he was some intern with a hunch.”

“Did the CIA take any interest in the escape?”

She pursed her lips. “Tons. I just had no information. They interviewed me anyway, on the chance that I’d lied to MI6 for whatever reason. You see, the CIA has plenty of skin in the game too. Charges can be dodged since Alex is a Brit, but not consequences. If word of them renting out a child becomes public, they’ll see scrutiny from every politician who wants to run for re-election on a platform of ‘think of the children’. I played dumb. As much as I wanted to put MI6 on blast for drugging Alex, I knew my boss’s boss wouldn’t do a damn thing but I’d still have to explain where I’d gotten the information. I couldn’t hang Smithers out to dry like that, so I went home and asked for my extended leave.”

“And the murder investigation?”

“Unrelated.” She groaned and rubbed her face in her hands. “It was over two years ago, Yassen. It really has nothing to do with this, I promise. It’s just your bad luck that you showed up around the same time they were able to prove my car was twenty miles away from where I said it was the night of the murder. They’ve got enough to get a warrant to search my house for the gun, but not much else so far as I know.”

“Don’t tell me you were stupid enough to keep it?”

“Of course not. Lola was my replacement.” She made a face at his expression. “Come on, she’s glittery. She needed a good name. Don’t you name yours?”

“No.” Yassen debated the merits of continuing his line of questioning. It didn’t necessarily matter. It wasn’t his concern. Though he was curious. “How did you dispose of it?”

“I stripped the gun, but didnt get rid of it right away. Seemed like a great way to tie it to the timeline of the murder.” She shrugged. “I hid it in my house and slowly got rid of it, piece by piece. Went on three road trips that summer just for an excuse to access storm drains and dumpsters in other states.”

Yassen raised an eyebrow. “I guess you had to be competent at something.”

“Great. Of all the random skills to possess, it’s an instinct for murder. It came in handy, so maybe I shouldn’t complain.” She sighed and looked at him. “All I felt was calm after I’d done it. I was worried, but not much more than I was over my car being almost repossessed at the time. Is that normal?”

Yassen shrugged. “You’d be surprised. As terrifying as the lead up can be, the actual event is rather mundane. Death is just a thing that happens.”

“That’s a fun part of the conversation to come in for,” Alex said, strolling back over to their booth. He slid into his seat next to their former therapist, evidently recovered from his earlier upset. “What are you talking about?”

“Yassen’s groundbreaking philosophy on childcare,” Briar told him without a second’s hesitation, false cheer neatly drawn around her like a shroud. “We should compile some quotes. Write a book.”

“Death is just a thing that happens,” Alex repeated with a snort. “How about ‘it’s just vodka’ or ‘are you dying again?’”

Yassen gave them both an unimpressed look as he stood up and threw away his untouched coffee in the bin nearest to their table. “We should leave. Where’s a good place to self-destruct the planner?”

Briar made a face but did the same, half shoving Alex out of the booth as they got to their feet. “I don’t know, a park somewhere? I’m not sure it’s a good idea to destroy it. I don’t have any other way to contact with Smithers. I’m sure if you wanted to communicate with him, he’d be happy to answer your questions.” She gasped suddenly. “Oh, my god.”

Both of them tensed. 

“What is it?” Yassen demanded, hand drifting to his concealed gun.

The exits were clear, the barista wasn’t even looking in their direction, and he couldn’t see anyone on the street who looked remotely interested in the coffee shop. What had she seen? Had a driver or passerby recognized her or had the CIA--?

“I just realized.” Briar yanked the elastic from her ponytail, dropping her hair down her back. She stepped forward and twisted it through Alex’s hair in one swift movement, leaving a small knot at the crown of his head. “You look adorable with a man bun. So cute. It’s on trend right now, plus it’ll keep it out of your eyes.”

Alex perked up even as Yassen shook his head in disgust. “Thanks. See, I told you it looks fine.” 

Yassen decided to ignore the topic altogether. “We can’t risk contacting MI6 directly and there’s no way to ensure there’s no gps in this thing. The little planner has to go.”

The child spy shrugged and took it from Yassen’s hands. “Well, at least he’ll put on a good show for us. I wonder if the fireworks will have shapes.”

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! The long prophesied "characters in those tags" chapter! It's quite a bit on the long side, actually. Normally I'd want to split this many viewpoints up, however, none of the POVs are our favorite dynamic duo. I didn't want to give you two weeks in a row without our main characters, so I'm just going to smash it all together and hope it works out. 
> 
> At any rate, it should be a lot of fun. Alex and Yassen might have enough drama between them to avoid smashing face first into the plot, but that certainly won't stop the plot from smashing face first into them. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Tamara Knight examined the email spread across her smartphone screen for the third time. The debriefing room was filling rapidly, but based on the low mutters of the FBI agents surrounding her, no one seemed to have any real information. It was bad enough she’d been dragged out of the field mid-mission, but to be hauled to the Phoenix FBI office was certainly unexpected. What could they possibly want with her? It wasn’t as though she knew any of the agents seated at the large oval table around her. She frowned, double checking her summons. Nothing identifying, just a mention of a ‘sensitive situation’ of which she was a ‘relevant operative’. 

Helpful.

She hadn’t seen such a diverse team in months: twenty different agents from varying agencies, milled about. A minute later, a couple of suits entered the room, prompting the other agents to silence. Behind them, four more men trailed in, three of which were wearing British SAS uniforms and the last of which was dressed in a fairly standard suit and tie. 

Tamara felt her eyebrows raise. What the hell was going on here?

One of the suited men nodded to the SAS and gestured them to take seats at the table, his dark hair slicked back with enough gel to asphyxiate a moose. Middle-aged and clearly with some kind of influence. He cleared his throat and began. “All right. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Special Agent Denali of the FBI and I’ll be heading this joint operation between the FBI, CIA, MI6, and the SAS. While the FBI will be taking point on this mission, we intend to be fully responsive to any needs your individual organizations might have. Given the time-sensitive nature of this mission, I’ll keep this brief and allow the head of MI6 to fill you in. Has anyone on my team not received their briefing file?”

Tamara raised her hand. The agent shook his head as he grabbed a remote off of the table and activated the overhead projector. “CIA and SAS will be filled in as we go; we can’t afford to lose any more time. We’ve been told you’re already familiar with this operative so it shouldn’t take much to catch you up to speed.”

Mrs. Jones, the Head of MI6, appeared onscreen. Tamara started. She hadn’t seen the woman since she’d last spoken with her about the Ark Angel project; even then it had been pretty routine so far as debriefings went. The woman on the screen seemed to have aged at least a decade in less than a year. Her short black hair had lost some of its luster and her face had grown new stress lines around the mouth and eyes. “Can everyone hear me?”

“The line is clear and secure,” Agent Denali assured her. He gestured to the room with his file folder. “Would you like to introduce the mission?”

Mrs. Jones took a small breath. “For those of you who have only just arrived, our mission is to retrieve a missing agent. Fifteen-year-old Alex Rider was abducted from a secure psychiatric facility by Yassen Gregorovich, one of SCORPIA’s top contract killers and terrorists for hire. Their whereabouts were unknown until recently, when they were picked up on a traffic camera outside of Scottsdale, AZ.”

In the corner of the screen, two small pictures appeared. Customs photos, if Tamara had to guess based on the background. The first was of a blonde man in his early thirties, half glancing away from the camera. Handsome, but unremarkable. The second was of Alex: longer haired, exhausted and stressed, but unmistakably the same boy who’d climbed into a chimpanzee sized rocket ship to tackle the problem of Ark Angel. 

She found herself swallowing a small sigh. What had the kid gotten himself into now?

The SAS men seemed thrown, save for the final man who’d come dressed in a suit. The ID hanging around his neck pegged him as the only MI6 operative Tamara had seen so far. His lips tightened and he stared at the table. After a long minute, he turned to the men seated beside him and said in a low voice, “Yes, Alex is Cub. We’ll talk later. Shut up.”

Eyes widened and if it weren’t for the hand the agent held up, a hushed flurry of whispers would have overtaken the small group.

Interesting.

Tamara only had vague memories of the blonde teenager who’d saved the world aboard a space station and returned intact. Or at least she’d heard so. She had never seen him again, but when she’d asked her boss, he’d assured her that he’d been picked up off the coast of Australia in one piece. Was he still active? What was he doing in a psychiatric facility? Why had he been kidnapped by an assassin?

With another glance at the group of Brits, Tamara returned her attention to the head of MI6. If she wanted to find answers, it clearly was clearly going to have to be a solo mission.

O

“This situation is extremely delicate,” Mrs. Jones continued. “It is difficult to understand our agent’s state of mind. His mental health has been extremely fragile for some time and Gregorovich was in contact with Alex since before he removed him from our care. It is possible that, by now, he is suffering from some form of Stockholm Syndrome and will not leave voluntarily. For this reason, we have made this a joint operation in order to include as many familiar faces to Alex as possible. Ms. Knight, K-Unit. You will be our primary points of contact with Alex.”

The woman Mrs. Jones had nodded to before raised her hand. Ms. Knight, Snake presumed. “Do we have any information on why Alex was kidnapped?”

Jones hesitated for only a fraction of a second. “That is currently unclear. Alex has been involved in several sensitive missions and possesses a wealth of information which could be of advantage to SCORPIA. He is also a talented agent in his own right. SCORPIA previously attempted to recruit him, though Alex ultimately ended up using that opportunity to compromise a large-scale terrorist attack. Revenge is a very real possibility. Gregorovich himself has a history with Alex’s family, meaning that we can’t rule out the odds that the abduction was personally motivated. What we do know is that Alex is an extremely vulnerable state. It is critical that he is recovered before any additional harm can befall him.”

Wolf raised his hand, eyes tight and grim. “Ma’am. Do we know what his current condition is? Why was Cub-- I mean, Alex-- in a psychiatric facility in the first place?”

“Alex’s behavior over the last few months has been erratic. He was admitted into the care of one of our most secure facilities for observation and treatment. Our doctors’ latest suspicion in that he suffers from some form of schizophrenia, but were unable to confirm his diagnosis before he was taken. Regardless, he’s gone without his medication for the last several weeks and may show signs of distorted thinking. He is likely very impressionable. It is imperative that he return to his medication regimen as soon as possible before Gregorovich can deal any more damage.”

Snake chewed on his lip, not bothering to glance at Fox as Eagle began smacking his arm, obviously trying to draw him into hushed conversation. Wolf had mentioned running into the kid on a mission, but this was the first Snake was hearing of the kid being an official agent. It was ridiculous. Sure, it made sense at Point Blanc to utilize whatever resources were already in play, especially when the other students’ lives had been at stake, but to employ a minor as an agent more than once? 

To call it illegal would be an understatement.

Ben’s face sealed the deal. No surprise, no shock. He’d known, obviously. 

There’d be a lot to discuss.

The head of MI6 went on. “As this is a very unusual case, we need a very unusual approach. In addition to utilizing as many familiar adults as possible, we will also be providing several members of the team with an injectable form of Alex’s medication. If you are unable to sedate him and take him into custody, it’s imperative that you attempt to deliver the dosage of A216 nonetheless. Receiving his medication may clear his thinking enough to run away from Gregorovitch.”

“Sedate him?” Ms. Knight asked.

Mrs. Jones nodded gravely. “It’s important to remember that he’s not thinking clearly. We don’t know the nature nor the severity of the abuse he has endured in the last few weeks, but it appears that he either cannot or will not attempt escape. Given his condition and the added stress of his abduction, we cannot risk him devolving into hysteria when confronted. We’ve determined that sedating him is likely our best option for bringing him in uninjured.”

Snake met Wolf’s eyes, seeing his own doubt mirrored there. 

It was hard to connect this information to the brat they’d trained with. The kid had been annoying to have tag along during one of the most important evaluations of their careers, but he’d been clear headed and resourceful. Mental illness was a bitch, though: Snake had watched his own aunt cave under the weight of her own paranoia over the years. It had always been amusing to hear her conspiracy theories over teatime, but when she suddenly made numerous accusations of close family members attempting to poison her, things took a turn for the worse. The family had no choice but to relinquish her to a special facility. If Cub suffered from something similar, it might follow that he wouldn’t make the best decisions or be able to accurately assess threats. Snake still wasn’t entirely sure that meant the boy would stick with the assassin if presented with literally any other option, though. 

Cub was a reasonable kid. Sedation seemed unnecessary.

Agent Denali cleared his throat. “It is imperative the Gregorovich also be taken into custody. He is an extremely dangerous fugitive who poses a threat to public safety.” With a quick click of a button on the remote, a list of criminal charges began scrolling next to the blond man’s picture. Snake’s eyes widened: the list moved line by line seemingly indefinitely, though ‘first degree murder’, ‘torture’, and ‘conspiracy to commit terrorist activities’ leapt out among the forefront. Jesus. “Alive is preferable. We all want to see him brought to justice and it’s just less satisfying to try a dead man for his crimes.” There were grunts and mumbles of agreement from around the room. “That being said, bringing in Gregorovitch dead is permissible if there is no other choice. The important thing is that he is stopped before he can escape again. His capture is our main priority.”

From the way Jones’ eyes tightened ever so slightly, Snake suspected that she barely managed to avoid interjecting. 

Of course neither agency could agree on a common goal. The Americans wanted their criminal, MI6 wanted their operative. Typical.

Not that he was free from his own bias. Snake stared at the picture of Cub-- no, of Alex. His hair had overgrown it’s last cut, curling down around his ears and near his chin unevenly. Dark circles stood out around his eyes; there was something unceasingly feverish about them, like burning coals dipped in resin. He’d lost weight. If Jones had neglected to mention that he was unwell, it would have been obvious to anyone looking at this photo. Beyond that, he looked basically the same as Snake remembered.

Poor kid. Who knew what Gregorovich wanted from him, what he was doing to him. 

Snake glanced around the table, meeting his team mates eyes. Regardless of their personal history with the tyke, they’d have to get him back home and safe.

“While we were able to locate them outside of Scottsdale, their current whereabouts are unknown,” Agent Denali continued. “However, we were able to identify the make, model, and license plate number of the vehicle they are traveling in. We have people on it right now and they estimate that it should only take a few hours to pinpoint their current location. Until then, you are all on standby. Agents, see your team leads for your specific assignment. Ms. Knight and all of our friends from across the pond, please consider yourself a team. Additional briefings will commence in….”

O

Ben Daniels dropped his sandwich back onto his plate with a grimace. The cold tuna fish offered little appeal, but eating was mostly an excuse to kill time and let his teammates interrogate him. Which they had done. Immediately. “I don’t know that, Wolf. I haven’t had access to nearly the amount of information that I wish I did. All I know was that he killed some psycho kid in self defense and then the agent who tried to debrief him after his next mission.”

“Yeah, but schizophrenia?” Wolf glanced around the rest of the table. The canteen within the FBI offices was more or less empty this late in the evening. Most of the day staff had already left, while K-Unit and Ben were waiting to be assigned temporary living quarters. The pretty, blonde CIA agent had disappeared awhile back, citing something about her superiors needing updates. “Don’t get me wrong: it was a pain having him around. My point is that I never noticed anything wrong with him in the head, even after I found him at the foot of that damn mountain strapped to an ironing board. He wasn’t exactly happy about his situation, but he definitely seemed realistic about it. That’s a lot of stress for a kid and he did okay.”

Ben sighed and grabbed his napkin. His position was… nebulous. There were definite limits to how much he could afford to tell them without compromising sensitive intel. On the other hand, his questions at MI6 had left him far from satisfied. If anything, the evasive answers to his questions had made him more uneasy. 

Alex and Gregorovich’s flight had been shocking. The amount of obfuscation running amok within MI6 was staggering. 

No matter who Ben tried to talk to, everyone’s information seemed incomplete. Scattered. It wasn’t his assignment and he’d tried to keep his head down, but couldn’t stop himself from pushing for more and more information whenever his coworkers had so much as hinted at their work. Maybe if it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have bothered. Agents had their whereabouts and histories classified all of the time, but this was Alex. 

What had he gotten himself into?

The more he’d probed, however, the more concerned he’d become. He hadn’t heard of Alex’s psychiatric problems until after the escape, despite having occasionally pulled his files over the last few months. That fiasco with his godfather and Yu’s Snakehead had been brutal. Ben found his thoughts turning to the little spy often; hoping that Alex was doing well and wanting to confirm that he was happily readjusted to normal life. As far as he’d known, Alex had been in school under the care of his nanny. 

The files listing his status otherwise hadn’t been there until they suddenly were, vanishing from the database again as quickly as they had appeared. Security access on his files seemed to change almost at random. Determined to sort it out, Ben had ultimately gone to Jones directly. 

That had been a mistake. After dressing him down for insubordination and protocol breaches for a good fifteen minutes, she’d relented the more Ben insisted that Alex was a special case. Allowed him a little more room to search for anything that might help them track him down, provided that he reported his findings directly to her. It had gotten him access to a few more files, but not much more. Even with Jones’ reluctant blessing, she was still stonewalling him.

Ben threw down his napkin and turned to the rest of the table. “The files I managed to dig up cited  drug abuse in his recent past. Jones’ is downplaying it, but I’m pretty sure whatever mental illnesses the kid has are the direct result of his service. PTSD, anxiety, and depression were all over his mental health reports. I couldn’t gain access to them all, but one or two even mentioned hallucinations in passing.”

“I guess you could call that schizophrenia.” Eagle braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Can we contact any family members about this? Maybe they can give us the details of his situation if MI6 isn’t being forthcoming. Drugs are one thing, mental illness is another. Maybe Mummy and Daddy know which one was a bigger deal.”

Ben shook his head. “Kid’s an orphan. Thoroughly. The psycho kid he killed murdered his nanny and he doesn’t have anyone left. Actually, I’m not sure why Jones’ didn’t mention it, but Alex was actually raised by his uncle, who was one of our own agents.”

Wolf shrugged. “Maybe she wanted that classified from the Americans.”

“But Gregorovich was the one who killed him. Even the Americans need to know that,” Ben insisted. “She alluded to that with that line about family history, but I don’t see why she wasn’t more specific. It’s a very real reason to fear for Alex’s safety. Why play coy?”

Snake cleared his throat. “There’s a lot I don’t like about this, beyond them employing him in the first place. Did anyone else feel strange about the orders regarding his medication? It makes no sense to try and stab him with that if we can’t even hit him with tranquilizer darts.”

It was Eagle’s turn to shrug. “It makes sense to me. If he’s wrong in the head, it might help. He’s bright, isn’t he? At least I remember him that way. He might be able to figure something out even if Gregorovich has him trapped.”

Snake shook his head. “You need sustained doses for something like that to work even a little. Weeks of steady medicine and adjustments, especially if his condition is as severe as we think. Besides, if he’s so deep in Stockholm syndrome as they say, I doubt he would risk his life over a passing moment of clarity.”

Ben plucked a crisp from his plate. Spun it in his hand, watching it crumble. He trusted his old team, more so than he trusted MI6, but that didn’t mean that he should spill his guts to them. It was incredibly risky for how little payoff was likely. Their reach was limited. Despite his misgivings, however, he couldn’t shake his own lingering doubt. So much about this stank of a coverup. He craved outside input even if all he got was confirmation that he wasn’t crazy. “There’s a few other things you should know. It doesn’t leave this table, though.”

Serious faces met his. Wolf and Eagle nodded, while Snake actually leaned in. 

He took a deep breath. “Jones is trying to lend a different impression to a lot of things. Alex wasn’t in a psychiatric facility so much as he was in a prison. Gregorovich was being held there too. He didn’t just track this kid down out of nowhere-- they were both inmates.”

“Wait.” Wolf held up a hand. “Prison?”

“He did kill an agent,” Eagle pointed out. Some of the energy deflated from the man. “They might have been keeping him there for evaluation if they thought he was dangerous.”

Ben shook his head slowly. “Not this kind of prison. Top secret. I still don’t know where it was located exactly, though I’ve scraped together a few guesses. I don’t think it was particularly well resourced either. I interviewed the prison therapist they dragged in after the escape and what she told me was completely different.” He lowered his voice even further. “I didn’t have long with her, but she told me that the prison had basically assigned Gregorovich to take care of Alex because they couldn’t get a psychiatric tech approved. That Alex’s hallucinations often turned violent, but that Gregorovich was best at deescalating him. The way she made it sound implied that he was a glorified babysitter. Insisted he had no reason to hurt Alex. Joked he’d taken him with him out of habit because Alex followed him around so much.”

“Why did Jones call it a secure psychiatric facility?” Snake demanded. “That sounds far from it if they were so understaffed they assigned assassins as nursemaids.”

“There’s more.” Ben swallowed and spread his hands on the table. He couldn’t allow his uneasiness to get the better of him. He had to present everything up front if K-Unit’s feedback was to amount to anything. “Dr. Wood also suggested that Alex’s hallucinations didn’t present as schizophrenia. In fact, her exact wording was ‘some sort of chemical reaction’. I have no idea what she meant, but she did specify that he’d been on a lot of hardcore medications in prison and was barely connected to reality. That he thought he was dead and that the prison was hell.”

“Distorted thinking, my arse. Can you pull the prison reports?” Wolf demanded. He crossed his arms. “If it was an MI6 facility, there have to be files somewhere. Something we can use to find out what that bloody woman isn’t telling us.”

Snake rapped his fingertips on the table. “I second that. I want to know what medications they had him on.”

Ben let out a disgusted groan. “I wasn’t supposed to be part of the investigation. I got an anonymous tip that Alex had escaped from a prison and that a team had been assembled to look into it outside of normal oversight. I poked my nose in and made a nuisance of myself until she gave in and let me participate tangentially, but I was never granted access to the team. Jones’ wouldn’t let me near it until I confronted her directly. I don’t think she knows I interviewed the therapist. It was more a favor from a passing agent I worked with than anything else. I assume I’m only here now because Alex knows me by sight.”

“So you’ve seen him on other missions?” Wolf asked slowly. “How many?”

“Yes, but I don’t think that’s important right now.” Ben took a sip of water, mostly to give himself a chance to glance around the room. The canteen was more or less empty; a few dawdlers milled back and forth while the cashier began counting the till. There was possibility of audio surveillance in this area, but he doubted it. This was a secure portion of the facility, meaning everyone from the cleaning crew to the barista had extensive background checks. Even if they were spied upon, he doubted the FBI would go running back to MI6 with whatever they overheard. “There’s another big issue she didn’t mention. I don’t know if she knows how much I’m aware of, but a lot of what she said didn’t line up with what I’ve discovered.”

“Beyond everything you’ve already mentioned?” Eagle raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “It sounds like she actively tried to hide the truth. What is it?”

“Those customs photos were from when they left Portugal on a cruise ship.” Ben dropped his voice another octave. “The same cruise ship that got attacked by those phony Coast Guards.” 

Three blank faces regarded him. 

“It was all over the news a few weeks ago.” He glanced around them. “None of you? Really?”

Eagle rolled his eyes. “There are better things on, Ben. Try watching them sometime.”

The MI6 agent ignored him. “Now, I wasn’t supposed to have gotten access to the file, but I was assigned to a related case and another agent on my team mentioned it. Jones might be able to split up the investigation, but she can’t keep us from talking to each other. Apparently, that ‘mystery organization’ that attacked the cruise ship was almost certainly Scorpia and they were looking for Gregorovich. He and Alex managed to escape, but were shot at and nearly killed.”

Wolf’s brows furrowed. “How certain are you of that? We just spent half that meeting being told that Gregorovich took him on Scorpia’s behalf.”

Eagle turned to him. “Really? I kind of got the impression Jones thought he was a pedophile.”

Snake interrupted, tapping the table with his fingertips. “More than that, this calls into question why he took him at all. If Cub is ill, violently hallucinating, and clearly MI6’s top priority, he can’t be easy to conceal. If Scorpia’s after Gregorovich, it makes loads more sense to ditch the dead weight. He’d need round the clock care. That’s a lot of effort to dump into a kid you didn’t orgasm into existence and aren’t being paid to put up with.”

“So Gregorovich is working for someone else now?” Eagle dragged a hand through his hair. “If Cub has been active in the field, he might have pissed off all kinds of organizations we don’t know about. Any one of them could have employed the assassin to bring him directly to them.”

“Or,” Wolf said, holding up his hands. “And this is pure speculation, but they could be trying to cover up something Alex did. He might have defected and the mental illness is a smoke screen. They damn near admitted something similar about Scorpia recruiting him. He could be working for Gregorovich or maybe they’re both working for a new organization.”

Eagle scowled at him. “Come on, Wolf. He wasn’t that bad. Don’t go calling him a junior terrorist over--”

“I’m not saying I’d blame him,” Wolf said, cutting him off. “No matter how you slice it, the kid has been through a lot. Training. Missions. Death. Having to kill. Possible mental illness. Prison. All before he’s old enough to fucking shave. I just want to point out that he may have done something MI6 wants kept quiet. I’m not even passing judgement.”

Eagle snorted. “Like hell you’re not.”

Snake pressed his lips together. “So, apart from all of our theories, we have more questions than answers. The one I want to answer is this: what do we do about it?”

Ben grimaced as all eyes turned to him. “I’m not sure what we can do. To start, I say we do our jobs. If we find out anything concrete, we can try to figure something out. I’ll just be happy if we find that kid alive.”

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday! Another week, another chapter. As always, I'm stoked to hear your feedback. :D

Alex stared dazedly at the telly, hardly able to focus his eyes long enough to register whatever was on the screen. Dropped his head back against the bed he was resting against, cross legged on the floor of their latest motel room. It was some sort of Hollywood gossip show, he supposed, watching a pop star flit across the screen juxtaposed against the headshot of a potential secret boyfriend. He hadn’t cared when he’d turned it on. Mostly he’d just been seeking a way to avoid interacting with Yassen while he rode out his high. 

He swallowed, distantly aware of his hands threading up through his hair. When did he raise them? 

If his previous highs had been a wash of happiness, this was a flood. The label had said Oxycontin, but something next to it was a series of letters he didn’t recognize. Some distinction in formulation, most likely. It hadn’t seemed important to him at the time.

His brow furrowed. What had he taken? How many pills was it?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered and that was okay.

Despite how many reasons he had to get upset, the rush made him immune to all of it. It was wonderful. He couldn’t go home anymore? Didn’t matter. Tom hated him and would never seen him again, not even to apologize? Didn’t matter. There was nothing left to prove that Alex had been alive, had friends, or had ever known Jack? That they had gone on holiday and to see films and occasionally spa facials when Alex relented and Jack promised him she wouldn’t take pictures of him with black goop smeared across his face and cucumbers over his eyes but inevitably did anyway? 

It shouldn’t matter. It did anyway. 

Alex felt tears prick at his eyes, somehow penetrating the haze. After everything else that had happened to him, somehow this was the worst. Somehow this hurt more than anything. 

Earlier that afternoon, he’d left the coffee shop where Briar and Yassen were talking, feeling hollow and numb in a way that sent phantom pain ricocheting off the inside of his ribcage. Intending to hide in the car, he’d spotted the buildings across from the carpark and paused. One was a squat little bar with dingy windows and some unsavory looking motorcycles in front of it, heavily modded but with chipping paint. The building beside it arrested his complete attention: a somewhat dilapidated, small-town pharmacy with bars on its windows and gutted payphones lining the exterior walls. 

Alex bit his lip and looked down at the keys in his hand. If he was quick, Yassen wouldn’t notice anything. No awkward questions, no talking. 

He would just take a quick look, he decided, pocketing the keys. He probably wouldn’t find anything anyway.

The pharmacy’s surprisingly decent security hadn’t stopped him: strategically positioned cameras flanked by security mirrors. Alex had gone inside to buy licorice, hovering in the candy aisle near the pharmacy counter as taking his time choosing flavors. The aging pharmacist was slightly hard of hearing and had confirmed each prescription in less than a library-quiet tone, despite the embarrassment of his patrons. 

For such a seedy looking building, business seemed steady: it only took about fifteen minutes before Alex overheard a painkiller he recognized. The man who made the purchase seemed healthy enough, despite complaining about his bad back. Guilt clawed at his insides; ethical drug stealing was hard to do properly when you didn’t have time to examine someone’s ailments. At this point he was just hoping the man didn’t legitimately need them. 

Perhaps Alex was past that. Perhaps he was just a regular drug addict now.

Either way, he had waited outside the pharmacy until the man had come out, fumbling with a handful of other white plastic shopping bags. Bumping into him with a startled apology, Alex was across the street and ripping apart the little paper bag containing the prescription before he could help himself. 

Unscrewing the lid, Alex hesitated. Stared at the little white tablets inside for a solid minute. God, even the chemical smell was enough to make him tense in anticipation. The strange label didn’t necessarily deter him, though he was tempted to take it to Yassen to decipher. He might get scolded, yeah, but he hadn’t taken any yet. Then again, he’d just risked them again-- the pharmacy had several cameras on the inside, though he pegged them as closed circuit and poor quality. He’d only seen one or two on the outside, mostly aimed at the door, if he recalled correctly. Could any of them see across the street to the lot where they’d parked? 

Fuck. Yassen would have a fit if he realized Alex had forgotten to check. 

After another split second debate, he’d swallowed one of the pills and gone back inside the coffee shop. He could figure out what to tell Yassen after they’d left the area. For now, he just needed to get through the next few hours.

Curled up on the motel floor, Alex stared at the television, squinting. Colors. Shapes. Nothing made sense anymore. A bolt of something like fear wriggled through him. He giggled uneasily. 

His vision was too blurry to see. 

It didn’t matter. At least he was warm and safe. Like he’d felt with Jack. She was dead and it was only going to get harder to remember her face as time went on. Alex already struggled to remember precisely what Ian looked like. Seeing a picture would help. Now there was nothing to remind him of her, to keep him from forgetting all that she was and all that she did for him. Except for the pills. When the rush hit, the moment of warm relief, he couldn’t remember exactly what she looked like, but he could remember how she felt. Every time he fell ill as a child, she’d come bustling into his room, wrap him in blankets, and smother him in double her normal levels of affection. If he didn’t feel like sleeping, she’d order some sort of takeout and put on a show, usually something a little trashy if she had her way but-- 

Alex tugged the thin bedspread off the bed and wrapped it around himself. The rush was fading. For only a few minutes a day, it was like she’d never left. It would have to be enough. 

The room spun suddenly. Alex distantly became aware of the floor pressed against his cheek. Had he moved or had it moved to meet him? The carpet was short and tan, scratchy and reeking of dust and mildew. He didn’t like it, but wasn’t sure he could move away. Better to just accept it. 

“Alex?” 

Alex hummed in response. He should say something. What was it? “‘m fine.”

Yassen’s voice faded in and out. Alex felt himself tugged upright. He tried to support his own weight, but slumped onto the floor almost immediately. He found himself flipped onto his back. Clear blue eyes bore into his. It took a minute for it to register that Yassen was shaking him. 

“-- hallucination or-- Alex? What is--?”

Something was wrong. He couldn’t think. His body was overheating and freezing simultaneously, sweat breaking out across his forehead. It was a little bit like dying, he supposed. Biting his lip, he realized he was going to have to come clean. Again. 

“Yasss…” He paused and tried again, staring hazily up at the blur hovering over him. “Yassen? Did a dumb... thing…”

“What did you--?” Yassen’s voice sharpened even as it seemed to trail off. Alex had to force himself to focus again. He’d missed some of the words. “--high?”

“Jacket pocket,” he mumbled. The room wouldn’t stop spinning. “Took too much.”

Yassen’s weight left his side. The sound of a rattling pill bottle. “Where did you get this?”

Alex hummed. The happy euphoria was gone and he didn’t want to get into it. Didn’t want to think about it. Actually, he was only just beginning to register his own fright, though he realized it had been there for quite some time. Fortunately, his subconscious mind had taken note when he conscious mind had been happily floating in the ether. 

“I already gave you your--” Yassen broke off. His kneeled down beside Alex again. “Were you in pain? You need to tell me if you need more.”

“Felt sad,” he muttered. Flopped a hand over his eyes. It didn’t exactly make a difference so he shut them. “Yassen? I can’t see. It’s cold. Scared.”

Jack was burning. A jeep wreathed in flames, or at least what was left of it. He didn’t need his sight to know every line, every plume of fire, the force erupting outwards. Stark shadows in the flickering flame, jagged and twisted against the desert sand. Julius burst into laughter and--

Suddenly he was upright, Yassen’s fist in his hair. Alex let out a grunt, but it didn’t exactly hurt. 

“Do not go to sleep. How much did you take?”

Alex had to think about it. He held up three fingers. “When we got here. One at the coffee shop.”

“Plus your percocet and xanax.” Yassen sounded angry-tired. Alex hated it when he sounded angry-tired. It was like disappointed, only even more Alex’s fault than usual. The hand left his hair but he became aware of pressure around his shoulders as Yassen pulled him to his feet. He nearly tripped over the blanket he’d been swaddled in. “Get up.”

Alex did his best to stagger forward, though he had the distinct impression that Yassen was more or less supporting all of his weight. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going until felt Yassen yank off his jacket and trainers as the sound of running water erupted to his left. Without much more warning than that, Alex found himself shoved under the icy spray. It soaked through his clothes almost immediately.

He gasped and tried to step out. “Cold.”

There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy in Yassen’s voice as he barred Alex’s escape from the tub. “That’s by design. Sober up.”

As tempted as he was to point out that opiates didn’t work like that, Alex found himself without the ability to string together that many words at a time. It wasn’t like he had any better ideas. Instead, he stood under the spray and shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. “But ‘s cold,” he muttered, feeling his teeth start to chatter. 

Yassen sighed. The knob screeched and the water abruptly turned warm. “Wait here.”

Alex hummed, listening to Yassen walk away. When had his eyes shut? He pried them open, finding his vision less blurry but still not much help. He shut them again and tried to enjoy the warmth while he could.

O

Yassen ripped open the bag of ground coffee and tipped it into the filter, spilling some over the edge of the thin white paper. Forcing himself to slow down, he quickly set the machine and left it to do its job. He had no idea what to do if Alex was overdosing. He’d tried searching for the information on the limited browser of his burner phone, but most of what popped up were warnings of the seriousness of the condition and urges to take anyone suspected of an overdose to the hospital. 

So helpful.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he paused outside of the bathroom to collect himself. It was probably fine. From what he’d gathered, the biggest risk was that Alex would pass out and asphyxiate on his own vomit or stop breathing entirely. Alex was disoriented, but conscious. So long as he kept him alert, Yassen was willing to bet he’d be fine in a few hours. Yassen was no expert but he’d been forced to sober up the occasional Scorpia asset mid-operation. One of the many downsides to project management. Despite how immensely annoying it had been at the time, he found himself suddenly grateful substance abuse was fairly prevalent in certain parts of the underworld. Hopefully, something in his repertoire of get-up-and-do-your-job would work. 

Alex clung to the tile to stay upright, eyes shut against the spray. His clothes hung heavily off his frame, highlighting how skeletally thin he was becoming. The contract killer felt a weary swell of frustration: he could nearly count the boy’s ribs through his shirt. How much more could he afford to lose before withdrawal had run its course? 

Yassen shut off the water and threw a towel around him, half dragging him out of the shower. “Are you awake yet?”

Alex hummed but didn’t open his eyes. He barely had the energy to hold the towel around his shoulders. Yassen dragged his thumb across the boy’s lid, forcing it up. His pupils were little pinpricks encased in brown. Alex definitely wasn’t going to be coherent any time soon. 

Yassen grabbed another towel off of the bar and rubbed it over the boy’s face and needlessly long hair. He didn’t really want to deal with any of it tonight. Alex’s plethora of problems stemmed from so many different sources. It was exhausting trying to puzzle them all out, trying to trace them to the core so he could attempt to eradicate them. What Yassen really wanted to do was turn on the news, smoke, and go to sleep, but as always, it seemed Alex’s misery had other plans. 

He paused, towel still raised in the act of drying the boy’s hair. Perhaps he didn’t need to keep attacking Alex’s problems with surgical precision; at least not his mental and emotional ones. He didn’t have the skill set for it anyway. Maybe he could just apply Briar’s advice and leave the deep-diving to the professionals. Her solutions involved a lot of talking, but not necessarily the kind that he minded. It was easier than many other things, at least. That was, if Alex was sober enough to listen.

“Alex?” he said, tapping his face. “Are you lucid?”

“Nope,” Alex said without hesitation. He swayed on his feet.

“Can you hear me?” Yassen asked, grabbing his arm and deciding to give up on drying him. He really should have made the boy remove more layers before shoving him in, but he’d been too annoyed to bother. Too late now. Alex could change when he was well enough to do it himself. 

The boy in question hummed again. “Mostly,” he said, after a moment.

“Good enough.” Grabbing a fresh towel, he draped it on one of the recliners in their room before guiding Alex to sit in it. Settling on a beat up ottoman across from him, Yassen hesitated. He was hardly versed at describing things like a painting; most clients preferred a short and clinical accounting of problems and their proposed solutions. Where was he supposed to start? 

“What do you know about Russia?” he settled on at last.

Alex shrugged and wrapped his arms around himself. Yassen got up and fetched another towel to drape on top of him. “Not much,” he said at last.

“That’s unfortunate,” Yassen told him. The coffee maker beeped, so Yassen stood a second time and went over to it. Pressed a full mug of black coffee into Alex’s hands. “Because you’re going to live there, at least for awhile.” 

Alex took a sip, nose wrinkling at the bitter taste. “Okay.”

Yassen paused. Making the place seem real to Alex sounded simple in his head, but now he found that the words weren’t there. It would be easier if Alex asked him what he wanted to know, but that might be asking too much even if he were thinking clearly. There was already a lot of uncertainty around Yassen’s plans and an excellent chance they’d end up living in a region Yassen had never been to. Yet, the goal in talking about the place was to remove uncertainty from Alex’s life. Maybe he could just pick and choose what he wanted to talk about? 

He took a short breath. “I’m not sure which area we’ll go to first, since we will likely move around until we find a good location. There are plenty of pros and cons to each region. The rural areas and smaller towns are easier to hide in due to their obscurity, but we are more likely to stand out amongst the locals. We’ll probably go to more urban areas since you’ll need to go back to school and see some specialists. There are many cities that would be suitable.”

Alex hummed.

Well, he’d started, but he realized abruptly that it wasn't a very good start. Briar had made it sound like he needed to describe the flavor of the place, down to the little details, but Yassen had no idea how to go about that. Alex probably couldn’t envision a bullet point list of needs, so Yassen’s manner of projecting the future wouldn’t help him any. 

It was tricky sometimes, realizing that Alex was far more a child than a client. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he watched Alex tug the towel tighter around himself to ward off the cold, eschewing the rest of the coffee. He knew he could do this. Alex had been immersed in his stories of John and had asked plenty of questions about the places he’d traveled to, not that Yassen had been short on details in the first place. What made this so difficult? Talking about Paris had been easy, even when he’d described portions of the city that Alex had never been to. In that case, he hadn’t been worrying about accuracy, he’d merely been accessing memories and the opinions that colored them. He didn’t know how to translate their many possible unknown futures in Russia that way.

As though sensing his impending failure, his hand drifted over his pack of cigarettes in his pocket. It had seemed so simple when Briar had described it, he’d actually managed to forget how inept he was at these sorts of things. Despite hating the idea, maybe it was more realistic to accept that Alex would remain miserable and high until Yassen could properly outsource the problem.

Alex took a deep breath. For a split second, Yassen thought he’d fallen asleep. “Like Moscow?”

Suddenly, Yassen had all the words he needed. “Moscow’s a shithole. Run down buildings, filth and drug addicts everywhere. Perhaps it has gotten better since the nineties. I don’t care. We’ll go back to that city over my dead body. St. Petersburg is much nicer, especially in the summer...”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! As always, I adore everyone's comments and observations on the story, as terrible as I am to responding to them in a timely manner.

Alex swallowed his Xanax and Oxycontin and turned off the television, trailing the contract killer through the open door of their motel room to the car. Yassen had run out of Percocet and made the switch to the oxy this morning, but had split those pills into even smaller doses. It was probably paranoia, at least in Alex’s opinion. Then again, last night Alex had proven to himself that he wasn’t a great judge of how much was too much, so perhaps it was wise to let Yassen handle it. At least he wasn’t giving Alex a hard time about the new pills. He’d simply pocketed them without a word. 

Yassen finished loading the car and leaned against the shut door, fumbling for his cancer sticks. 

Alex gave him a minute to let the nicotine settle in before pestering him again. “So how would I get to school?”

“It depends,” Yassen replied, for probably the forty-second time that morning. If he was annoyed, it was own damn fault, Alex decided. He was the one who’d brought the topic up. He suspected that the man had to repeat himself a few times; it was almost inevitable since Alex had fallen asleep listening to Yassen tell him about all the major cities he’d been to in the country. The fact that he’d woken up full of questions shouldn’t have been at all surprising.

“How do most people get around?” Alex scowled and waved a hand at the sedan. “I’m sick of having to drive everywhere. Nothing in this stupid country is nearby. I miss my bike.”

Yassen exhaled a plume of smoke, turning his head away to ensure it trailed downwind of Alex. “Same as most places. If we stick to the major cities, you can take the metro, a bus, or walk. I imagine you can bike if you’d like, though I never made a habit of it.”

Alex mulled that over. “All right. Is navigating easy if you don’t speak Russian?”

Yassen snorted and flicked his stub away, reaching for his car handle. “Only in the tourist areas.”

“Is the cyrillic alphabet hard to learn?” Alex climbed into the front seat and buckled up immediately.

“It was the first I learned. I’m hardly an objective source,” Yassen reminded him. The desert sun shone directly in their eyes through the windshield. He dug around in the glove box for his sunglasses before starting up the engine. “But I’ve heard native-English speakers say it was easier than they expected. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“You only say that because you speak every language ever,” he grumbled. “I only speak four and they all share linguistic roots.”

Yassen gave him a side long look. “Nine is hardly every language there is. My Japanese isn’t nearly good enough to consider a tenth. Don’t forget that most of the world only speaks one or two. You have an advantage in that you’ve learned before. You can do it again.”

“Eventually,” Alex admitted. “I learned them by living abroad when I was young enough to pick it up naturally. I didn’t have to study them.”

“And you’ll learn by living in Russia,” Yassen pointed out. “It’s almost the same thing.”

Alex leaned his head against the window, watching as another uninteresting stretch of desert spread across the horizon. There wasn’t much on this little state highway: beyond the yellow scrub brush, the only buildings they’d encountered that weren’t gas stations was a ghost town that had actually been named Nothing. It had lived up to its name.

Truth be told, picking up Russian would be relatively easy compared to figuring out what the rest of his life would entail. At least it was a challenge he could anticipate. “Well, I’m practically a drunk toddler anyway. Maybe it’ll work in my favor, finally. I still don’t know how you put up with me.”

Instead of brushing off the comment like he normally did, Alex noticed Yassen tense ever so slightly. He kept his eyes firmly on the road, however, switching lanes to pass a slow moving eighteen wheeler. “Does that still bother you?”

“Of course it does. You know it does.” Alex chewed on his bottom lip. As much as it should have reassured him to know that Yassen was getting  _ something _ out of solving Alex’s problems for him, it didn’t offer much security beyond that. It was too vague. What if Alex’s problems got more annoying? Or Yassen eventually realized he had to focus on his own life? “I still think you’re getting the shitty end of this deal, even if you don’t mind it.”

Another careful glance. “What do most people get out of taking care of drunk toddlers?”

Alex snorted and rolled his eyes. “The usual stuff, I suppose. Macaroni art for the fridge. Someone to take care of them when they get old.”

Yassen gave him a crooked smile. “Deal. I’ll take it.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m deadly serious, Alex,” Yassen responded, raising a single eyebrow. “I expect top notch macaroni art. Attention to form and depth, with notes of neoclassicism.”

Alex laughed and shook his head.“You might want to lower your expectations. I’m not sure I’ll ever be the Da Vinci of macaroni art.”

“Da Vinci was a renaissance artist, so you may be correct.” Yassen made a small show of sighing. “You’ll just have to deliver on your promise of a walker with a beretta mount. Make it up to me that way.”

The image of Yassen-- dressed in an argyle sweater vest, hunched over a walker, complaining loudly about dentures and kids these days-- was enough to rip a gale of laughter from him. Yassen couldn’t be immortal, but Alex certainly couldn’t imagine him getting  _ old _ . Not Yassen. “You’ll be the scourge of the retirement center.” Alex said, wiping his eyes. “No one will dare try and scam you out of your bingo winnings.”

They’d sat in companionable silence for a bit, Alex still riding out the occasional wave of mirth. For his part, Yassen seemed perfectly at ease to let him chuckle quietly to himself in peace.

At length, Alex looked back at him curiously. “Do you really want me to do those things for you?”

Yassen shrugged. “I’ll likely be a handful if I live that long. My grandmother had--” he paused for a moment. “--well, I suppose the English word for it would be dementia. We called it confusion. She never knew the year and liked to sleep in the fireplace. I suppose I’ll do far stranger things.”

Alex considered him. “Like steal cars and sneak out to buy burner phones every few days. You’re right. I don’t think there’s an old folks home on the planet that could keep up with you.” He looked out the window. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

It was Yassen’s turn to look at him. “That was fast.”

Alex snorted. “I probably put as much thought into as you did about taking care of me. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

Yassen relented with a tilt of his head. “You’re not wrong.”

Taking care of Yassen when he was old. What a strange thought. Truth be told, it did make him feel a tiny bit better to agree, even if he knew the contract killer wasn’t taking it seriously. There was no way to hold him to it, of course, but that didn’t worry Alex much. He didn’t particularly want to deal with an elderly Yassen-- the thought made him snort again-- but it did seem… fair. A possible way to pay him back and definitely not urgent. He had decades to sort out the details. 

“I’m hungry,” he told Yassen a minute later. “Can we stop for milkshakes?”

Yassen’s lips thinned. “If we keep stopping for the same foods over and over again, we’ll become predictable. Easy to track and anticipate. That’s something else I need you to do for me.”

“Not eat milkshakes anymore?” Alex asked, unable to conceal his genuine dismay. Yassen’s exaggerated concerns for nutrition aside, it would not be inaccurate to describe the dessert as fifty percent of his daily caloric intake. At least.

Yassen snorted. “Not exactly. I want you to come up with a randomized way to pick where we eat every time we stop. I don’t care how you do it, just make sure it can’t be easily guessed. Roll dice. Shuffle cards. Whatever you want.”

Alex chewed on the idea. “Why am I in charge of that? You must have a system you use for that sort of thing already.”

Yassen shrugged. “Because I don’t want to bother with it. My previous strategy was to order whatever was offered through the hotel or was located closest to it and otherwise skip meals. You’d get bored with that and I want you to eat more than once a day, so come up with a system. Think about it. It doesn’t have to be ready today.”

“Okay,” Alex said. He drummed his fingers on his arm rest absently. There were plenty of ways to approach the problem, but Yassen said it had to be unpredictable. Picking the first place they could see from the highway hardly fit the bill, but it was also hard to know in advance what sort of town they’d be stopping in. The options endlessly changed. He needed to come up with a way that could just as easily apply to a glorified rest stop as a metropolis...

O

After about an hour on the highway, just as Alex was beginning to think he could spend the rest of his life without seeing another desert rock formation and be happy, Yassen abruptly pulled them onto one of the interstate highways. A handful of passenger vehicles and delivery trucks dotted the lanes, making for a much denser amount of traffic than before. It was only early afternoon. Alex glanced over at Yassen questioningly.

“We’re stopping in Kingman,” Yassen informed him. He glanced at Alex, seemingly considering something before adding, “Possibly for the rest of the day. I want to try to get ahold of my identities broker again and switch cars. We’ve kept this one for far too long.”

Alex yawned and stretched. “Okay. I might take a nap.”

As it turned out, Kingman lay at the heart of a number of major highway intersections, including the historic Route 66. It was impossible to miss. Touristy buildings sprung up along the sides of the road, built in that iconic wooden frontier style complete with wide railings, wooden wagon wheels, and hitching posts that had probably never been used by actual horses. The Route’s symbol had been plastered on damn near everything, from the antique locomotives and cars that seemed to garnish the more prominent properties to the most humble of convenience stores, many of which had been painted bright colors as though plucked from a spaghetti Western film. 

It was so over the top yet fit the expectations instilled in him by the occasional cowboy film he’d seen as a small child. Alex couldn't help but be enamored with every tourist trap he passed.

Yassen pulled them into a mom and pop style motel just beyond the main part of town. The Oasisinator was everything Alex had been hoping for: white stucco in a Pueblo-revival arrangement, with a large cacti nearly as tall as the single story building reaching its long fingers to the sky. Their room was small, but comfortable. Old maple furniture had been squeezed into the space. The bedspreads were a variety of chevron patterns while all of the artwork on the walls seemed to feature trains of varying historical accuracy. 

Alex dumped his bag on the bed furthest from the window, rifling around until he found his phone charger. Once his little flip phone was happily guzzling electricity on his bedside table, he turned to Yassen and asked, “Do you have any change? I spotted a vending machine on the way in and now I want a coke.”

Cell phone pressed against his ear, Yassen dug into his pocket before offering him a few small bills. “Get me one too.”

The glowing red machine hummed loudly over the soft whoosh of passing cars. January seemed like a surprisingly busy month for the town, though he supposed many tourists were trying to escape the snow further north. Shivering, he fed the bills in slowly, collecting the ice cold cans with a wince before tugging his sweater sleeves down to insulate his hands. Glanced across the street half on accident.

Smithers nodded to him, a slight smile fixed to his face. 

Even without the fat suit Alex had grown so accompanied to seeing, he was impossible to miss. He sat almost primly at a small cafe table on the wooden porch across the street. It was another frontier style building, only bright lights flashed from every window instead of the hand painted signs and wagon wheels that all the other buildings seemed to favor.  _ Railway Arcade _ shone in neon above the whole lot.

Alex froze, brain almost refusing to catch up. 

After a long, telling pause, he held up his pointer finger--  _ one minute _ \-- and walked slowly back to the room. 

Pulse thundering in his ears, Alex forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose to the count of four. Was MI6 here? No. It sounded like Smithers had more or less gone rogue, according to Dr. Wood. If anything, Smithers’ letters implied that he was in at least as much danger from MI6 as Alex was. Was he here alone? It was impossible to know, but now that he thought about it, Alex couldn't ever recall the gadget man working directly with anyone but him. He’d mentioned no partner. Surely he’d worked with many agents, but Alex didn’t know specifically. How had he found them? They’d ditched the iPod in Europe. Alex certainly hadn’t tried to contact him directly and he’d watched Yassen initiate the self-destruct feature on the pocket planner himself. Did Briar have another way of getting in touch? But how could he have tracked them to a random desert town they didn’t plan on stopping in before getting in the car?

It probably didn’t matter much how Smithers had found him: he was certainly clever enough to have done it. It might as well have been voodoo for all the good it would do Alex now. The important thing was that Smithers was alone and obviously wanted to talk. There was no reason to reveal himself out in the open like that otherwise. He was capable of far more.

Alex returned to the room, clutching the soda cans to his chest. 

He mustn’t tell Yassen. 

His stomach squirmed. There was no way around it. Yes, obviously this was the sort of thing the man needed to know if he was going to keep them safely under the radar. Yes, he would be furious when he inevitably figured out what had happened. Yes, this was probably going to blow up in his face in some way he couldn’t predict. Alex still couldn’t see a viable alternative. If he told Yassen, there was no way he’d let him speak with Mr. Smithers and even if he did, he would never allow him to do so alone. Smithers would certainly talk to Alex, but Alex couldn’t think of a reason for him to trust Yassen. Likewise, despite knowing Smithers had gotten them intel, Yassen had expressed distrust of his motives before. 

He would absolutely kill Alex’s friend if he thought for a minute it would keep them both safe.

But Alex couldn't let that happen! Somehow, he had to slip away and talk to him, convince him that everything was fine before Yassen found out. Once Smithers was safely away from them, Alex would tell Yassen all about it. It was easier to ask for his forgiveness than his permission, even though Alex dreaded the fight that was almost certain to follow. 

Yassen had swapped out his sunglasses for his false glasses by the time Alex shoved open the door. “What took so long?”

“I was just looking around. There’s a lot of old trains and cars around here,” Alex said, handing him his drink. “Did he answer?”

“No. I’ll have to approach him in person.” The can cracked and hissed as Yassen pulled the tab. 

Alex started in on his own fizzy drink, hardly tasting it. With Smithers across the street, it was entirely possible that Yassen would spot them together if he hung around the motel. Didn’t he say he was going to look for another car? Maybe it was too much to hope that he’d go immediately. He might not leave for hours. Alex was short on excuses to leave without him and--

Yassen grabbed the car keys and his jacket from where he’d laid it on the bed. “I’m going out for a bit. Stay in the room.”

“Okay.” Alex nearly fell over in relief. He started as Yassen tugged open the door. “Was there only one keycard?”

Yassen hesitated, hand on the knob. “I want you to stay inside. Take a nap.”

Alex felt his eyes narrow. Ever since his panic attacks and hallucinations had toned down to something manageable, he’d never tried to force Alex to stay inside. He’d clearly preferred it, but had trusted him not make a spectacle of himself if leaving was important. While Yassen wasn’t exactly chaining him to the AC unit, Alex got the distinct impression that he was trying to limit his movement. But why? Why now of all times?

He got it suddenly. “You think I’m going to look for more pills while you’re gone.”

Yassen released the door and turned to him. “That has been the trend. I’m starting to think I shouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

“I wasn’t-- that’s not--” Alex folded his arms and gave up, glaring at the floor. 

Yassen didn’t trust him. As unfair as it felt, he knew it wasn’t. Even if he had no intention of looking for a fix, he was actively deceiving Yassen with every moment that passed in which he didn’t tell him MI6’s gadgets expert was drinking coffee across the street. Trust issues aside, he was just going to have to suck it up: if he couldn’t get back into the room, it would be harder to mislead Yassen while Smithers got away. He’d just have to figure something out. “Whatever. I’ll stay in.”

Yassen swept the door shut. “Actually, that’s something we should discuss.”

Alex fought the urge to groan. There was no time to stand around while Yassen gave him shit over the opiates thing. It was a real problem, sure, but there’d be time to sort it out later. Alex might not get another chance like this again. “Can we do it later? I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired,” Yassen pointed out. He crossed his arms and stared at Alex for a long couple of seconds, seemingly choosing his words. “You keep stealing extra. Why? Is the pain getting worse?”

“No.” Alex scrubbed his hand across his eyes. “Sometimes I just want to get high. It’s shitty, but there it is.”

Yassen’s eyes flashed, arms dropping to his side. “Do you understand the risk at all? Not just of getting caught because you’re too high to go undetected. Neither of us knows exactly what you’re taking and how much. You could overdose. You’ve come close at least a handful of times. Last night, for one.”

Alex let out a bitter laugh. “Is that supposed to scare me straight? I could die so many ways any day of the week, Yassen. I almost have. I could run into someone who recognizes me and holds a grudge. My body might just finally give up on its own. Frankly, if I’m going to get myself killed, an overdose sounds like the most pleasant way to go.”

Yassen’s entire body tightened. Alex suspected he wanted to march over and shake him again. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“No. I told you. I just wanted to get high.”

“I thought you didn’t like that. Why?”

Alex glared at him, mostly for the crime of asking a question he had no desire to answer. High was better than sad and borderline overdose was the closest he could get to his dead housekeeper. Saying it out loud would be like opening a crypt he didn’t want to look inside. Even if he could somehow choke the words out, he just knew Yassen would take it personally. The stupid fucking DS proved that he wanted him to be happy and his subsequent drinking binge had clued Alex into the man’s feelings of inadequacy. Unless Yassen had been concealing a PhD in Necromancy, there was nothing he could do about it anyway.

Yassen shook his head after Alex stubbornly refused to answer. “Fine. Just--” he broke off. Reaching Into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a single plastic wrapped gummy candy. He offered it to him. “Here. Take this if you need to, but don’t steal anything. I’ll figure something else out.”

Alex stared at his hand. “What?”

Yassen impatiently shook the candy until Alex accepted the offering. “What do you mean what? You’ll try to get high whether I like it or not, but at least this way I’ll know what you’ve taken. It’s a cannabis gummy. I’ll get more or find something else that’s less likely to kill you. I’ll fix it.”

Listening to the door shut behind Yassen, Alex stared at the little chemical bomb in his hand. He’d smoked pot at Rosethorne to take off the edge when Jean refused to give him more percocet. Hadn’t really enjoyed it, but it had gotten him by. It had reeked of empty placation then and hadn’t lost any of that potency now. Yassen had gotten it for him from god knew where, obviously afraid that Alex would get himself killed if he failed to indulge him. 

Simultaneously, he felt everything and nothing; eventually the tide receded, leaving puddles of unhappiness behind. He swallowed the gummy and left.

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Technically it's Monday, right? At the very least, it's been Monday for about forty minutes for me. :D
> 
> Today's chapter is quite a long one, with a lot of really fun content. I've been really excited for everyone to read it, especially since everyone seemed to have a lot of fun with the bombshell of Smithers showing up. At any rate, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Smithers continued sipping his coffee, a paperback novel propped open in his hands as a feasible excuse to dawdle. Truthfully, it was a fun read: a sci-fi-western-romance-fantasy that fell neatly in line with all of his guilty pleasures. While the exterior appeared completely normal, apart from the rather garish cover art, when viewed from the inner fold it provided the reader with x-ray vision up to fifty yards. Opening the book to the center page revealed a glossy illustration which also operated as a digital map that could monitor various tracking devices in real time and even remote detonate the odd incendiary device or two. He hadn’t had a chance to plant any of either such devices, but that didn’t necessarily worry him. Alex hadn’t gone very far.

He watched carefully as Alex’s small frame returned to the motel room where another taller figure waited. The blue-green screen highlighted the firearm strapped to his back in a flare of white. 

Gregorovitch. 

Smithers tensed in his seat. Intellectually, he knew it was pointless: Alex had been traveling with the assassin for weeks now and Briar had mentioned his unlikeliness to cause the boy harm. Even so, it was difficult to suppress his natural responses to Alex being in such proximity to the killer; especially given Smithers’ familiarity with the photographs of several dozen autopsies attributed to the man. The insight it offered him was far less than reassuring.

An argument erupted between the two, judging by their sudden jerky body movements. Smithers’ hand crept into the backpack he’d set on the ground beside his table. Intervening might very well cost him his life, but he’d resigned himself to that. 

He wouldn’t stand by a second time. 

Fortunately for all involved, the jerky movements de-escalated quickly and the assassin left Alex alone in the room. The boy stood in place for several minutes, probably to ensure that his keeper was long gone before he made his way to the arcade.

Smithers snapped his book shut as Alex approached, gathering his things from the table with a nod; a clear signal that they could speak inside. Close up, Alex looked worse than he remembered ever seeing him: he was unhealthily thin and had dark circles under his eyes. Perhaps the oversized glasses he sported and the dark hair dye made the contrast greater. 

Withdrawal was clearly taking its toll.

Alex trailed behind him, looking a little lost somehow among the flashing lights and musical whoops emanating from all around them in the dark interior. Maybe a half dozen children ran up and down the aisles, dumping change into the various machines and egging each other on. Everything smelled of cheap plastic, old carpet, and popcorn. Pinballs clattered noisily against knobs and bells dinged in triumph. Halfway into the arcade, the carpeting receded into black and white tile as a 50’s style diner erupted around them. Alex slid into the furthest booth from the door while Smithers ordered another round of coffee to avoid standing out. 

Finally safe from sight, the boy smiled. “It’s so good to see you, Mr. Smithers.”

Smither returned the gesture, relaxing a little as he set their cups between them. “And I you. I’ve been worried sick since you dropped off the map. How are you?”

“I’ve been better.” Alex paused, studying him. “Dr. Wood showed me your letters. I hope you haven’t put yourself in a bad position over me.”

He shook his head, a touch sadly. “There’s no avoiding that, I’m afraid. Things have gotten a little hairy at the Royal and General. Hopefully, it’s for the better.”

Alex’s lips stretched into something that almost wanted to be a smile as he looked down at the table. “It’s strange to see you without your suit. That, and your normal way of speaking. Your American accent is quite good.”

Smithers chuckled, allowing said accent to drop for a sentence or two. “Yes, yes, I know. As much fun as it would be to be my usual self, my dear boy, it would also make me quite memorable. I’m undercover now, in a sense. Musn’t stand out.”

“How did you find us?” Alex asked.

“The planner I gave Dr. Wood sent a coded signal when it self-destructed,” he confided and crossed his fingers loosely on the table. “Mrs. Jones has been circling me like a shark with the scent of blood for the last several weeks, so I figured I had nothing to lose. I’ve been planning to leave for a while. Visited your good doctor recently to ensure that everything was above board. I couldn’t think of a reason for her to initiate self-destruct since no one at MI6 suspected her of anything that I knew of. I missed you and Mr. Gregorovich by about eight hours.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, but we’re a long way from Scottsdale. We never told her where we were going.”

Smithers tilted his head from side to side. “I also happened to take a glance at some CIA reports before I departed. You were recognized in some pharmacy robbery footage near Scottsdale. Evidently, they were able to identify your car and license plate number. There’s been a bulletin out on it for the last two days. You didn’t pop up on any of the State Troopers’ radar so it seemed logical that you were taking back roads. Utilizing a little bit of guesswork, I determined that this town is where most viable routes eventually converge. I’ve been here since dawn. Hoping.”

“Shit. I have to warn Yassen.” Alex stood, patting his pockets as though he’d forgotten something. He turned in the direction of the exit.

Smithers grabbed his arm just hard enough to slow him down. “We need to discuss some things first, Alex. He can look after himself.”

“But he’s in the car now. If it’s compromised--”

Smithers sighed. “This town has a small police force. Maybe four full time officers. If that. Even if he’s stopped, I doubt it's anything he can’t handle. We need to talk about what’s best for you, Alex.”

Alex sank back down into his seat. Unexpectedly, the teen folded his arms and scowled at him. While having seen Alex’s ire before, he’d never been on the receiving end of it. “Don’t say that. Nothing ever good happens. It always means someone has made a load of decisions on my behalf.”

“You have an excellent point, my boy.” The gadget man shifted in his seat and sighed. “I promise you’ll get none of that from me. All decisions will be your own.”

“Alright.” Alex’s gaze softened. “So why did you come here?”

“To help you, of course. To make sure you were safe.” Smithers hesitated. He had lots of questions for the teen, but found himself unable to trust the answers in advance. How severe was his withdrawal? As much as he hated the idea, the fact of the matter may be that Alex wasn’t thinking clearly. The boy certainly seemed salient, but Smithers knew perfectly well that such things were flexible. Would Alex lie to him to cover for the assassin? “Has Gregorovich…”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Has he what?”

Ah, yes. Alex hated subterfuge, even for the sake of propriety. Could hardly blame him. “Well, harmed you.” 

Alex shook his head. “No, he’s taking care of me. Annoyingly good care of me.” He must have seen something in Mr. Smithers face because he rolled his eyes. “He slapped me once, but I think he felt worse about it than I did. I know you don’t believe me, but at worst he’s just a nag.”

Smithers winced. As much as he wanted to spare Alex distress, there were certain realities that had to be confronted. “No, Alex. At worst he’s your uncle’s murderer. You musn’t forget that.”

“I haven’t,” Alex said matter of factly. He tasted his coffee. Made a face. “Crazy isn’t the same thing as amnesiac.”

Smithers considered his words carefully. As Alex had said, many adults had tried to make decisions for him. Much as Smithers wanted to, he couldn’t afford to put words in the boy’s mouth. The truth, however horrible, was what he needed to determine; he mustn't prime Alex to tell him what he wanted to hear. That was the best way to ensure Alex dug in his heels on a matter of principle. It was important that Alex not felt talked down to, especially if he were to speak freely. “It’s just… you’ve not been a position where holding on to those feelings has been an option. It’s natural to… adapt.”

“Like Stockholm Syndrome?” Alex propped his chin in his hand and sighed. “Yeah, I probably gave it to him somehow. It wasn’t on purpose. I think it happened when I didn’t let him sleep for five days in a row. I’m mean to him all the time and he just keeps putting up with it. I can’t tell if he’s a pushover or some odd kind of realist. I keep telling him he ought to leave me but he never does.”

Smithers choked on his coffee. “ _ Alex _ .”

“I get it. It’s weird. Everything is weird now.” Alex stared into the depths his paper cup. “Every so often I remember who he is to the rest of the world, but most of the time he’s just Yassen. He nags me about flossing and getting exercise. In prison, he made me do homework even when I thought I was dead. I’ve had doctors less obsessed with my diet than him.” Alex pushed his false frames aside and rubbed his face, eyeing Smithers. “Look, I know he’s killed loads of people, but my hands aren’t exactly clean either. Besides, Ian was a spy. He was going to get shot by someone eventually. If it hadn’t been Yassen, I would have never met him, so in a way I’m glad it was him.”

Smithers busied himself with his coffee cup to buy him a few seconds to collect himself. There was a sort of logic to his words, albeit a profoundly unsettling kind. Perhaps it wasn’t unexpected given Alex’s history. He acknowledged Alex’s point with a nod. “That doesn’t mean you should necessarily trust him.”

“And yet I do.”

Smithers leaned forward. “Even if you’re no longer upset with him for it, you need to look at the entire situation objectively. Killing your uncle isn’t the only negative impact he’s had on your life. Is he really the safest person for you to rely on? History matters.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Is it any stranger to trust the assassin who just so happened to kill my uncle than, say, the guy who gave me explosives to wear on my person at all times, with a two-minute explanation on how to use them, before I was sent off to die on missions I didn’t understand?”

Smithers’ stomach bottomed out. 

That hurt. The true things always did.

He covered his eyes with his hand and swallowed. “I was trying to save you.”

“I know. He did too. It got him shot and sent to prison, but I don’t think that makes it any different.” Alex gave him a small, tired smile. “I was just making a point. I don’t blame you, in case you were wondering. Never did. You were the only one at MI6 who tried to help. Everyone else would talk like they cared, but as soon as they needed me to go back into danger, suddenly my safety was negotiable. The things you snuck me saved me time and time again. Thank you.”

Smithers had to take a minute to collect himself. “Oh, don’t thank me. I didn’t do nearly enough and what I did was too late. I should have come forward right away.”

“You did something,” Alex insisted. “Lots of people did nothing. Without you, I’d probably still be in prison and think that I was in hell. Well, if I hadn’t died in the field a dozen times over.” He paused, something uneasy flitting across his features. “Wait. What did you mean by come forward?”

“That’s another thing I wished to speak with you about.” Smithers dropped his hand from his face. “When Mrs. Jones began erasing you from public records, I realized that things had gone too far. Not only did I busy myself investigating your injections all those months ago, but I began stashing every file-- every interview, every photo, every field report, every medical exam-- that had anything to do with you. I didn’t have a plan. I just knew you couldn’t be forgotten. I’ve got quite the collection of evidence now.” 

Alex stared at the tabletop, saying nothing.

Smithers went on. “I know you’ve been burned by people trying to make a spectacle of you in the past. This isn’t about public opinion, it’s about justice. About preventing anything like this from happening again to some other child. She’s already looking into it, you know. If there’s any hope of stopping her, I have to present my case to the international community. Undoubtedly someone will notify the press, but there’s no other way to ensure that this isn’t swept under the rug while she finds a replacement for you.” 

Alex shook his head. “It will anyway. Too many powerful people stand to lose if my secret comes out. So many were in on it. MI6, the CIA, and ASIS. Hell, the PM knew about me. Even the queen, I think. The president of the USA.”

“That’s why international exposure is our only hope. The major powers don’t play as nicely as they let on, even when facing mutually assured destruction. Believe it or not, not everyone stands to lose if your abuse is revealed.”

“I doubt it. Every time someone else in authority introduced me, everyone would show surprise or raise a small objection but carry on as usual. Surely the world powers have seen more shocking crimes. Child soldiers. Human trafficking. Slavery. I can’t imagine them being bothered.” Alex shrugged and began nibbling on his already ragged fingernails. “What do you mean Jones is looking into it?”

Smithers grimaced. “The files I was able to pull, scattered among the files of the A216 trials, all cited a group called Nightshade. They train child assassins, though rumors suggest they are looking into training other types of operatives. She’s also been involved in some unspecified school examinations, but I wasn’t able to learn much more than that.” He shook his head and leaned forward. “Alex, the UN offers a form of witness protection. I’ve already laid the groundwork for some support. Come with me and I’ll make sure you get a new identity somewhere safe. Dr. Wood has already agreed.”

Alex looked up at him at last. “Do I have to testify? Can you do it without me?”

Smithers hesitated. “Well, yes. There’s an overwhelming amount of evidence, despite MI6’s best efforts. Even if you died, I could still prove you existed and that they used you for missions. It would be much faster and more powerful if you could go before them personally and--”

“I don’t want to. If it doesn’t really matter, I don’t want to.” Alex took a deep breath and shook his head as though to clear it. “I’ll answer whatever questions you want about my missions so that you know where to look for more evidence, but I don’t want to go to court. I can’t.”

“Alex,” Smithers said, drawing out his name. He sighed. “Even if you don’t wish to testify, I think you should still come with me. You could start a new life with protection. Medical care. Safety.”

Alex met his eyes steadily. “You really think I’ll be anonymous long? If you come forward, maybe I won’t have to testify directly, but I’ll still have to answer questions and sign a load of statements. Someone in charge is going to want to know where I am at all times, especially if they have to set me up with a new identity. They might want to give me a protection detail. It won’t be long until MI6 and then Scorpia finds me. No thanks. I’m done with the lot of them.”

What could Smithers say to him? It was normal, given Alex’s age, to focus only on the problems in front of him. Survival had long been his only occupation. Long term planning and consideration was something Alex needed to recognize if he was going to have a happy, healthy life someday. What would it take to help the boy realize that slumming in shitty motels with a killer and no real goal wasn’t going to make his life any better beyond next week?

“You have to think of the future--” Smithers broke off as Alex broke into laughter.

It took him a few seconds to wind down while Smithers stared. He pressed a hand to his chest. “Sorry, mood swing. You sound like Yassen. He’s always lecturing me. I can’t get him to shut up about my fucking future. I’ve got to stay healthy so I can get out of withdrawal so I can go back to school and so on and so on. If I don’t floss, I’m ruining Future Alex’s mouth. Nag, nag, nag. I’m not sure I have a future, but he seems to think I do. I’ll just let him worry about it.”

Smithers turned that over. “You paint a rather different picture of him than I expected.”

“Yeah. It surprised me too and I’d met him several times before we wound up in prison.” Alex chuckled into his coffee cup, looking back at the man seated across from him with bright eyes. “He’s essentially my mum at this point. Did I tell you? He keeps slipping protein drinks and nutritional supplements into my sweets because I don’t eat well. He thinks he’s so sneaky… ”

Smithers took a deep breath. “I’m glad things seem to be going well between you and him. I am. Has he told you why he is taking such good care of you in the first place?”

Alex shrugged. “We’ve discussed it, yeah.”

“And what reason did he give?”

“Why don’t you give me your suspicions first so that way neither of us have to pretend you’ll consider my response despite them.” Setting his cup down, Alex raised an eyebrow.

Smithers smiled crookedly. “Very well, old bean. Caught.”

Alex shrugged. “I’ve gotten stuck talking to a bunch of therapists and other let-us-in-your-head-poor-child types. I’m getting a little impatient with people forgetting I have a brain, to be honest. It even works half the time.”

Smithers nodded. “Well, since you say he hasn’t done anything… nefarious.... to you--” 

“I would consider myself distinctly unmolested, thank you for asking.”

“-- that leaves only a few options. Either he’s bringing you to his employers-- unlikely given that fiasco with Scorpia on the cruise ship-- or he’s got less tangible reasons for dragging you along. Emotional ones, perhaps.” Smithers took a delicate sip of coffee. “You do realize you look a lot like your father with your hair like that.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying I’m some sort of what? Replacement?”

“Adults can project their problems in strange ways,” Smithers said, wincing. 

“No kidding. Alright, suspicions heard.” Alex put down his drink and crossed his arms on the table. “He admitted that looking after me is mostly a stall tactic to avoid having to deal with his own problems. We both think he’s having a mid-life crisis since he isn’t an assassin anymore. It’s kind of a boring reason, really.”

Smithers took several seconds to digest that. “That’s… concerning.”

“Less concerning than him being a gay pedophile, having an obsession with my dead father, or taking me to my certain death? Honestly, this is the best case scenario I can think of.” Alex fidgeted with his half-full coffee cup and shrugged. “It works out well for me, anyway.”

“How is your health?” Smithers asked. “I hope the hallucinations have ceased.”

Alex shook his head. “They still happen. They got really bad actually, for the first few weeks that I missed my injections. They’re dying down, though. My panic attacks are easier too.”

“Good, good,” Smithers said, looking at his hands. “Pardon me for asking, but I am really quite concerned with the footage I saw. It’s just… how is your chemical dependency treating you?”

Alex sighed. “It’s alive and well. I don’t really want to get into it.”

Smithers grimaced. “I know it’s not my business, but it  _ was _ a large factor in me being able to find you. First, let me say that it is an understandable problem for you to develop in the situation you were in. The fact that it has continued even now… Has Yassen taken you to see a doctor?”

Alex shook his head slowly. “It hasn’t been safe. We can’t trust most of his old contacts; that’s how Scorpia found us on the cruise ship. My hallucinations were too hard for me to ignore until recently. The oxy helps, though. It keeps the withdrawal at bay so I can function.” His eyes hardened. “I really don’t want to get into it.”

Smithers held up a hand. “Alex, if you have to steal medicine in order to stay healthy, perhaps you ought to consider that Yassen might not be the best--”

Alex growled and folded his arms. “Oh, stop it. There’s no rosey way to go about it, is there? Fine. I started stealing pills whenever he left me on my own and when he caught me, I convinced him to let me keep them because they help with withdrawal. He holds them because I had trouble forming memories and he thought I’d overdose. I stole from the pharmacy because I wanted to get high and he doesn’t want me to.” He glared at the table. “There. I’m a drug addict and I need a babysitter. Does everyone really have to know? Is it too much to ask that I have a little fucking privacy?”

Smithers shook his head slowly. For good or for ill, Alex wasn’t the same boy who’d stepped into his office time and time again. Perhaps the anger had always been there, waiting for a quiet moment when the world didn’t need saving to bubble to the surface. Self-destruction wasn’t far off. Alex would reach adulthood soon with a lot of baggage weighing him down. Without supervision, he could easily drown in his own resentment. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Alex. Really, I am. I’m not judging you. You had few options to cope and your final mission was essentially a conveyor belt directly to the worst one. Addiction is nothing to be ashamed of, especially not after how much you went through and how well you did.”

“Not doing so well now, am I?” Alex sneered, but Smithers got the impression it was directed internally. “Not by myself. I can’t do anything by myself anymore.”

“So ask for help. You’ve done enough for everyone else. Let someone else give you a rest,” Smithers told him. He sighed and stared at his hands. “One of the many things I wish I could fix for you, Alex, is this idea that you alone must carry the weight of the world. No one can.”

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: SURPRISE CHAPTER, Y'ALL! In honor of Galimau's birthday, who has probably written as many words in review of this story as the actual fic itself, I've decided to post an extra chapter to commemorate this glorious occasion!
> 
> So much action and plot, guys. :D Enjoy!

_ But that’s not who I’m supposed to be _ , Alex wanted to say.  _ I wasn’t meant to be this weak. Just because I didn't like saving the world doesn’t mean that I wasn’t meant to. If I could do it, that makes it my responsibility to do it for those who can’t. This isn’t who I’m supposed to be! _

It was pointless. Alex didn’t know who he was now, much less who he’d be in a year or two. Assuming he lived that long. The man he thought he’d grow into was impossible now. Whenever he’d given it thought, he’d always imagined his adult self the way he thought his dad had been: loyal, strong, and always willing to do right no matter what the cost. Now that he’d heard Yassen’s stories, he couldn’t even dream about that; John Rider had been a man of many facades, probably designed to appear a hero despite the damage he dispensed. Like Ian.

Maybe like Alex himself.

It felt pointless. Everything he believed about himself had shattered into thousands of dull shards. Even if he found a way to reconstruct himself, he couldn’t imagine making anything worthwhile from what remained. 

Alex grimaced at his hands. Maybe things would be better in Russia. 

“You said he had an idea for your future,” Smithers pointed out when it became clear that Alex had become lost in thought. “What did you mean by that?”

Alex scrunched up his nose and tried to force his mind back on track. Julius jeered at him from over Smithers shoulder, but he wasn’t actively making a nuisance of himself. He stifled the urge to snap at the specter anyway. “Same thing as you, minus the justice. Get us new identities so we can move somewhere safe and quiet. He thinks I’ll probably need special doctors after all the weird medication I’ve been on. He hasn’t said it, but I’m pretty sure that means therapy and rehab too. Going back to school is non-negotiable to him, but I don’t mind. I miss school.”

Smithers considered his own cup. “And what will Yassen do?”

“What do you mean?” 

The edible finally hit. It was like someone had cracked a warm, fuzzy egg on the crown of his head that spilled it’s way down his shoulders and spine to pool in his chest. Not at all like when he’d smoked it. It wasn’t as potent as percocet, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Strange. Like slow lightning rather than a warm ocean. 

Alex sighed. It would have to do.

Smithers shifted in his seat, adjusting his jacket in an effort to gather his thoughts. Alex still wasn’t used to this slender, young, full haired version of him. “Let’s say he’s successful in doing all of this for you. You wind up somewhere safe and happy, going to school and seeing doctors. Perfect. What is he doing in this ideal scenario? Taking jobs on the side? Perhaps he’ll leave when he’s accomplished what he set out to do.”

Alex hummed. It wasn’t a bad question. He couldn’t imagine Yassen getting a nine-to-five office job, though he supposed it was possible. The thought nearly made him giggle, but he suppressed it: he was getting good at faking sober. “Maybe. I think he’s trying to avoid thinking about that stuff. He says my problems are easier for him to solve.” He met Smithers eyes then. While a large part of him was still touched that he’d gone so far out of his way to ensure Alex was safe and happy, he wasn’t about to let the man talk him into changing his mind. It was crowded enough in there already, thank you very much. “I know you’re worried about me staying with Yassen, but I don’t think that’s necessary. Either way, it’s for me to decide, and I’ve decided I’d rather stay with him.”

Smithers sighed. “I really, really don’t like this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Alex braced for the push back.

Smithers blew out a deep breath, tone brightening into something Alex recognized as belonging inherently to the man. A touch of his old manner of speaking blossomed back to life. “Well, I can’t say that I’m entirely surprised. Gregorovitch does seem to be doing a decent job at keeping you safe and happy, all things considered.”

Alex’s mouth dropped open. “Really? After all that. I thought you were going to knock me over the head and insist I leave at once. Don’t tell me you were easier to convince than you let on.”

The gadget master shrugged. “Well, I needed to ensure that you’d considered everything. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, despite your recent psychiatric issues. Not that I was trying to deceive you, but I didn’t think you’d be quite as likely to offer details unless you felt you needed to make your case. Don’t misunderstand-- I quite disapprove of the man. He’s not a good person and I have serious concerns for your safety. I’m just saying that I’m not terribly surprised by your decision.”

Alex furrowed his brows. “Okay?”

“And you can change your mind if you ever choose to do so. I hope you do. Take this.” He reached into his bag and handed Alex a small, white plastic button. Alex turned it over in his palm-- as far as he could tell, it was a typical button. There were probably dozens of identical ones in his closet in Chelsea, lining the majority of his school shirts. “This is your panic button.”

Alex felt a grin unfurl in the corners of his lips. “As in a literal button?”

Smithers touched his nose, a small twinkle in his eye. “You’ve always appreciated my sense of humor, haven’t you, old chap? In any case, pull the face-- see the lip there-- forward and turn it four times. It’ll send me a coded distress signal. I can’t promise that I can respond personally, but I’ll definitely try. If I can’t, I’ll send whatever backup I can. Local authorities, favorable agencies, that sort. I’ll do everything in my power to not call MI6, but if your life is in peril, I will do what it takes to keep you alive.”

Alex slid it into his pocket. “Thanks, Smithers.”

“There’s more, of course. I do so enjoy spoiling you with gifts. No guns, I’m afraid. Ironically, you’re in one of the few countries where one would hardly notice an armed-- ah, wait, here we are--” Beaming, the man pulled his bag on his lap and pulled out a white t-shirt. “This is a similar model of armor to the one I gave you for that nasty business with Cray. I’ve made a handful of modifications to improve it’s puncture resistance, but it’s essentially the same concept. Machine washable, of course! Please promise me you’ll wear it.”

“I promise.” Alex turned over the not-quite fabric in his hands. The stiffness was actually less than he remembered. He folded it and stroked it, getting used to the way it moved in his hands before he pulled off his jacket and slid it on. “I can wear it under my regular shirt.”

“That’s what I hoped. Now, for a blast from the past--” Smithers gave him a pleased look when Alex actually laughed. “--are these little darlings. You remember the exploding coins I gave you for your Snakehead foray, I’m sure. Again, some small modifications but they work the same. Just anticipate a slightly larger blast.” He took a deep breath and offered the last item. “Now, for the piece de resistance.” 

With a shake of his head, Alex refused to accept the little iPod. “No, I can’t take that. It’s great of you to replace it, but Yassen won’t let me keep it. He made me throw away the last one so we couldn’t be tracked.”

Smithers shrugged. “Actually, there was no way for me to track its location. The signals were too easy to pick up by outside sources, making it prone to hacking and detection, so I ended up scrapping that functionality entirely. I didn’t even know you had it with you in prison; good on you for sneaking that in! No, no, this one is the newest model. The previous could only  _ observe _ surveillance using its infrared features. This version still can, as well as let you listen in as before, but now you can also  _ intercept _ certain frequencies. If you press this button--” Smithers demonstrated, showing Alex the way the screen changed. “--you can drown out signals with what is essentially white noise. Use that on a security camera, and the screen will go blank. If someone is trying to use a bug, isolate it like this and they will only hear static. Things like that. Noticeable, I’m afraid, but better than being observed in a pinch. As much as I’ve enjoyed catching up with you, it’s probably best not to leave footage at strange pharmacies from now on, hm? Now, there is one additional feature you should know about: it can make phone calls.” 

“That’s exactly the sort of--”

He held up a hand to ward off Alex’s objections. “Secure phone calls,” he emphasized. “Provided they last less than two minutes. Beyond that, it’s secure only if the recipient makes no effort to trace you. It doesn’t establish a connection to a satellite until you activate the feature, which takes up to four minutes. Quite the delay, but unavoidable in order to make it truly untraceable. The panic button is much better for emergencies, which is why it’s a separate device. Now, the first number programmed is mine. Again, please call me if you change your mind about staying with Gregorovich. I will send someone for you right away. If not, well, I’d appreciate the occasional ring just to let me know that you’re doing well.”

Alex looked up at Smithers and then back down at the table. Swallowed past the lump in his throat, feeling his eyes sting with tears. “I know I keep saying this, but thank you. This means a lot.”

“Believe me when I say that this is the least I can do,” Smithers told him, something serious entering his gaze again. “I should have done more for you far sooner. Lots of people should have.”

Alex shrugged. “I don’t care about them. They’re not here. You are. Thank you.”

Smithers shook his head and stood. “I wish it were more, old boy. Maybe I can get you justice, but if Yassen can give you a normal life, I suppose I shan’t complain. Now, I expect you have to be getting back to your room.”

Alex nodded and stood. “You’re leaving now, right? I wouldn’t linger.” He paused, wincing a little as he studied the man across from him. “Yassen’s pretty harmless… to me, that is.”

Smithers stiffened slightly, though he maintained his jovial tone as he shut his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I rather suspected as much! Now that I can ensure you have a way of getting ahold of me, I’ve got to run back to Scottsdale. Dr. Wood seemed to be in a bit of a pickle, legally speaking, and that will need sorting before MI6 realizes what I’m up to and tries to intervene. Please take care, Alex.”

“I will, Mr. Smithers. Please be careful too. MI6 can be pretty ruthless.”

The man smiled a touch ruefully. “I know it. Don’t worry, I’m quite familiar with their bag of tricks. I conjured most of them myself, you know.” He nodded one last time to Alex before he turned and walked out the door.

For the second time, Alex stood holding an iPod and feeling a surge of hope.

 

He had to get back to the motel room, but moving felt a little strange. The dark interior of the arcade flowed past him, lights and bells surrounding him like fairy lights. Beautiful, in their own way. He felt like a child-- so present, so appreciative of everything. It was like his brain had slowed down while the rest of the world moved the same. He kept getting stuck in his thoughts-- no, simply mired in the little details, perhaps-- like they were sticky syrup and he a fly. It wasn’t debilitating except that maybe it was. Everything made too much sense, sort of. Like he was more aware of all the pieces. How could he function normally, skipping over vast swatches of thought like he must?

His cell phone. He had to get his cell phone. Yassen was in the car the police knew about--

Alex shoved open the front door of the arcade, dragging his gaze forcefully from the glossy wood and glass to the other side of the road. The Oasisinator was exactly where he left it-- with no one to see, he actually let out a giggle to himself-- though something wasn’t quite right. The open concrete walk leading to the parking lot, the very one that had the vending machine, was visible from this side of the road. It was how he’d spotted Smithers awaiting him. 

Now it showed him K-Unit, dressed in plain clothes that didn’t quite conceal their body armor even from this distance, lined up against the wall by the motel room door. From the parking lot, two rather conspicuous black vans watched over them like mechanical guard dogs. Both drivers seemed similarly outfitted as K-Unit, though something about their demeanor didn’t quite seem MI6. CIA or FBI, probably. Traffic was sparse, but present. No roadblock then, at least not yet. Judging by that and the plain clothes, Alex guessed that they hadn’t actually pinned down either his or Yassen’s exact location. 

Alex groaned, still standing in the open doorway of the arcade, high as balls. “Fuck.”

Someone must have radioed because K-Unit seemed turned to look at him, almost as one. 

Ben stepped forward into the street, even as Alex took a matching step back. He raised a hand. “Alex, wait--”

“Go away,” Alex moaned. He shoved his hands against his face and growled. Trust K-Unit to pick the worst possible time to bother him. He had to go call Yassen and his phone was in his room. They were blocking him!

Actually, calling Yassen was beside the point, he realized. They’d already been found.

Spinning on his heel, Alex darted back inside the arcade, swearing under his breath. A dark haired girl with a daisy stuck in her ponytail gave him an annoyed look as he nearly knocked her over. The winding warren of arcade games-- flashing lights, 8-bit theme musics clashing with each other-- seemed to close in around him like the walls of a cave. Belatedly he realized he should have taken note of all the exits and entrances when he’d first entered, though he hadn’t thought to before-- startled, but ultimately trusting Smithers not to compromise him. There had been an emergency exit by the cafe, but it led almost directly across the street from the vans. He’d be scooped up in seconds. 

The doors slammed open behind him. Wolf’s voice. “Cub! Stop!”

Alex stopped himself from yelling back just in time, crouching down behind the taller machines as he entered a section entirely devoted to racing games. No need to make it easier for them to locate him by calling out. His eyes fell on an open stairwell, tucked behind the prize counter fifteen feet away and roped off with a small sign saying employees only. If he went for it, he’d be exposed for at least a few seconds. 

Well, it wasn’t as though he had many other choices. 

Throwing himself forward, Alex crossed the open space faster than he’d thought he could possibly go. Braced his hands against the glass counter and vaulted.

A sharp hiss and a pressure against his back made him gasp. Had he been shot? He didn’t feel shot. Probably not, then. He twisted as his feet slammed into the carpet on the other side of the glass. Fifteen feet away, Wolf lowered his firearm as Ben came up on his shoulder, Eagle and Snake coming around the sides. 

Ben shoved his way to the front, gesturing to himself. “Alex. Do you know who I am?”

There weren’t enough drugs in the world to make Alex alright with being condescended to like this. 

He glared. “Oh, fuck off, Fox.” Without bothering to turn around a second time, Alex threw himself at the stairwell, nearly tripping over the rope designed to discourage patrons from wandering. He swore again as he realized these narrow stairs led only upwards instead of towards the back as he’d hoped, meaning he’d essentially be trapped on the second level. 

Too late now. No way to go but up. 

Feet hammering the rickety old stairs, Alex ascended as fast as he possibly could. The hallway wasn’t even wide enough to accommodate a second person going the opposite direction. Because of this, the walls were bare and the stairs unadorned. Nothing he could use to block the men he knew would be following any second. 

“Cub!” 

There they were. Alex made it to the landing, feeling a second impact to the back of his shoulder. Staggering, he glanced around him. Two doors stood open: a small bathroom with a tiny window to his right and a larger office to his left. No exits. It was pointless to hide, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Where would he like to make his last stand? 

He darted into the office and slammed the door behind him. 

Typical. The door was cheap particle wood number from the seventies and didn’t have more than a privacy lock at best. Barricading was his only hope. He engaged the little lock anyway before climbing onto the surface of the desk.  A heavy filing cabinet rested between it and the door, so using his meager weight as leverage, he toppled it. It slammed onto the wood floor with a resounding bang, wedging itself against the door. Good enough. Dropping to the floor, he braced himself against the desk and shoved it up against the filing cabinet before knocking over some wood shelves onto the pile for good measure. 

A carved wooden mirror hung on the wall next to where the filing cabinet had been. Something caught his eye. 

Panting, he squinted and examined the back of his jacket. Tranquilizer darts? 

They were trying to knock him out. Bloody fantastic. At least Smithers’ shirt had prevented them from reaching his skin. He yanked them free of his jacket, glaring at the offending needles.

“Bloody arseholes,” he muttered to himself. Maybe he should be more grateful they were treating him like a kid given how much easier it would make things, but this was a matter of dignity. Couldn’t they shoot actual bullets at him? He was a possible threat! He was! 

Alex folded his arms with a snarl. He’d bet his fucking brand new iPod that Yassen was having real bullets shot at him. No one would condescend to the contract killer because of his age.

Also his kill record. That probably had more to do with it. 

“Kid?” Fists pounded against the door. The lock rattled a second later. “Cub! It’s Wolf. We’re here to get you out, okay? Just calm down. We’re not going to hurt you. You’re safe. It’s okay now. Open the door.”

Alex ignored the sounds of his old unit being complete and utter prats, instead angling to peer out the window on the far wall of the office. A truly scenic view awaited him: the window looked out over the dumpster in the back of the arcade and a small lot just big enough for the owner to park. Beyond, an unfenced divide of half-dead grass led directly to the parking lot of a busy burger joint and what seemed to be a laundromat. 

Agents would be positioned around the building soon. He had maybe a minute.

In the hallway, he heard someone (maybe Eagle) report back. “No, we think he’s barricaded the door. We got him with two of the darts, though. He’s not down yet, but it can’t be long.”

Well, that made his choice easy.

“Wolf?” he called, careful to make his voice reedy and thin as he gently eased open the window. A touch confused. Scared. His little boy lost routine was even easier with his recent poor health to inflect his voice. He rolled his eyes as he carefully removed the screen.

“What is it, Cub? What do you need?” A smack. “Quiet.”

“Why am I falling asleep? I can’t keep my eyes open.” Alex surveyed the dumpster beneath him and sighed. It would be gross and it would hurt, but he could take the fall without breaking anything. Probably. Pulling out his iPod, he tucked one earbud in and turned on the infrared feature. Saw the huddled forms of K-Unit before sweeping it down towards the second level. Another three agents were near the front of the arcade. “Wolf?”

Time to go. He gently tipped over the orange padded chair stationed across from the desk. It hit the ground with a muffled thump.

Eagle’s voice was low and urgent as he activated whatever radio system he had. “Okay, he’s asleep. We just need to break down the door and he’ll be secure.” A pause. “Yes, sir. No, we’ve got it covered. He’s not going anywhere.”

Ben piped up this time. “They’ve found the sedan Gregorovich was driving at a park twelve blocks from here. I don’t know if someone tipped him off, but he’s likely on foot. We’ve got team Bravo downstairs, but they’re diverting the remaining agents to the search.”

Shit. 

How was Alex going to find Yassen? They’d discussed before what to do if they anyone ever caught up to them, but they hadn’t planned for this kind of scenario. He stifled a groan. They’d only been spending twenty minutes apart max and Alex had rarely left the room unattended; all instructions that didn’t involve Yassen handling it immediately had revolved around calling him, staying put, and hiding until Yassen shot his way through the problem. They’d never discussed meeting points as they’d never had much of a reference; they could be tracked down anywhere, with any number of differing landmarks and city layouts. 

He quietly hooked his legs over the edge of the window track and took a deep breath. He’d just have to figure this stuff out on the go. 

Dropped.

Falling while high was almost like being on a spaceship. Alex smothered his giggles as he impacted the trash below, grunting as his hip hit the edge of the metal. Fuck. That was going to leave a bruise. Climbing out, he staggered as his feet touched pavement. He paused, then shook himself. It didn’t matter where he went, he realized. So long as it wasn’t here. He just had to get away before they broke down the door and realized his trick.

He took off running for the burger joint. Between it and the laundromat, the restaurant had more traffic; he could blend in with the handful of couples and families milling the outdoor picnic tables. Slowing as he reached them, he shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look relaxed as he scanned the new street. His fingers brushed up against something hard and cylindrical: the darts. He hadn’t realized he’d pocketed them.

A black van barreled towards him without stopping. If they hadn’t seen him, they would soon. Heart in his throat, Alex ducked his head and continued his walk. Inspiration struck. He dug out one of the magnetic coins Smithers had given him and hefted it in his fingers. 

Just like throwing stones on the pond’s surface with Tom. Nothing different. 

He let the coin go in an upwards arc as the van sped past him. The little baht slid across the dark pavement before it drew level with the van. With a sharp wobble, it shot up under the frame of the van and disappeared from sight. 

Alex stuck his tongue out. Maybe he’d detonate it regardless of how much trouble they gave him. Teach them to just slap him with some tranquilizers and assume it was handled because he was a kid. Like he couldn’t be dangerous. 

Ageist bastards.

He snorted to himself, feeling another wave of his high hit. The van took a sharp right, disappearing around a corner towards the center of town. To where Yassen was supposed to be. His hand drifted to his stomach suddenly. With sudden, brilliant clarity, he realized he was starving.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! More insomnia means more midnight chapters. At any rate, enjoy! I'm loving everyone's comments so far, even if I'm terrible and never respond in a timely fashion. :D

O

Yassen  dropped his sunglasses over his eyes with a muttered curse. Fresh from the dealership in the car he’d managed to purchase without a valid paper trail, he forced himself to drive past their motel without slowing. Some kind of law enforcement was in the motel parking lot. 

He knew he should have come straight back to check on Alex, but he’d wanted to check the local pharmacy for Narcan. His frantic online research last night had dug up the name of the miracle drug that could reverse an opioid overdose, or at least halt it before Alex went into complete respiratory failure. He’d gotten lucky: not only had they had it in stock, but outside of the pharmacy he’d spotted the backpackers he’d bought the single cannabis gummi from in the motel lobby. Cash and charm were a wonderful combination; now he had another six to offer Alex. Yassen had headed back in a good mood, now possessing both the means to a safer alternative for Alex’s highs and backup plan in case the boy couldn’t be persuaded to make the switch.

Yassen glared at the motel in his rearview mirror. Was it too much to hope for that the manager was dealing meth? He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of believing in coincidence. Keeping his body language relaxed, he turned right after another three intersections, sliding his phone out of his pocket and texting without looking down at the screen. 

**Stay in the room. Black vans. Any intel?**

He cradled the phone in his hand as he pulled over beside a small, historical train museum. Nothing. Waited a minute or two for a response, before dialing Alex’s phone directly. It rang six times before an automated voicemail system took over. 

Anxiety spiked through him before he ruthlessly shoved it down. It was possible that Alex was asleep and didn’t hear his phone. He might be stepping into the shower. The TV may have drowned out the sound of the vibration. 

Or that the boy was already in custody.

Yassen shoved the phone back into his pocket, already planning. He had to assume the motel was compromised and that Alex had either been apprehended or would be shortly. The smartest thing to do, of course, was to cut his losses and leave. The black vans and the fact that they’d found them in this sprawling nightmare of a highway system suggested it was the Americans who had caught up with them. Scorpia favored multiple units in discreet civilian vehicles, unless the operation was marked high priority or critical, so he doubted their involvement in this instance. MI6 probably wouldn’t risk stepping on their allies’ toes unless they could do it quietly and quickly: an obviously unmarked van in broad daylight suggested a different set of priorities. Who knew how many agents were roving the town as he sat here.

Yassen only had a handgun with six bullets, a car that could soon be linked to his false identity, and whatever he’d been carrying on himself at the time. Hardly enough to stage a rescue. 

He hesitated. On the other hand, there’d never be as good a chance to get Alex back as now. However many agents were here in Kingman, it was still less than were likely stationed at whatever facility they’d keep the boy in until MI6 could send for him. Assuming Joe Byrne didn’t keep him around for an odd job or two first.

Yassen grimaced and checked his clip. Hunter’s stupid orphan was probably going to get him shot again. He tried to summon some ire at the thought and came up empty. It was just as well.

Climbing out of the car, Yassen strolled along the sidewalk, pausing as though looking at the garish tourist traps and considering souvenirs. In reality, he was checking his appearance: his hair held its color and his beard’s dye didn’t need significant touching up. Should be fine up to three feet. His disguise was likely uncompromised if they hadn’t attempted to arrest him yet. It wouldn’t be for long, so he had to take advantage of his time while he could. The motel room was his obvious starting point-- it was the last place he’d seen the idiot child and he wanted to confirm if their room had been raided or not. If he could get his hands on a lone agent, he might be able to rapidly interrogate him into telling him where Alex was being held.

Three blocks passed without serious incident. He was careful to check each passing car and each wandering tourist for signs of undercover law enforcement. Nothing. Tourism was alive and well: apart from the pudgy, bored American families swarming the place in their minivans, the rest seemed to be college students crammed into overstuffed cars and outdoor enthusiasts stopping for gas. Consulting his mental map, he knew he was nearing the motel. He’d noted the rows of small businesses that flanked the north side of the street across from the Oasisinator when he’d chosen it: it made for a decent escape route, but would hopefully now conceal his approach. With any luck, he’d be able to pick one of those businesses to scope out the situation: the old church or perhaps even the arcade would do. 

Spotting a bright pink and neon green burger joint, he quickly headed in its direction. It was quite distinctive. There was no fence separating it’s parking lot from the arcade’s, if he recalled correctly from his earlier canvassing of the area. He could use it to cut through to the--

Yassen stopped short as a familiar figure turned from where he was gleefully accepting a styrofoam cup at the order window.

“There you are!” Alex hurried over to him, plucking the bright red plastic spoon from his cup and popping it in his mouth. “I was just about to look for you,” he mumbled around it.

Yassen almost laughed. Of all the times for the boy to crave a strawberry milkshake. “We need to leave. I think the room has been compromised.”

Alex nodded and stuck the spoon back into the mound of melting pink dairy. The thing seemed to have actual chunks of nutrition-laden fruit in it. Yassen was beginning to think he should buy a lottery ticket. “Yeah. K-Unit tried to tranq me. I told you about my old SAS unit, yeah? I don’t know what agency they’re with right now, but they have at least six more agents that I know of on the ground. Probably more. Anyways, I barricaded the second floor of the arcade and jumped out the window while they sent all their extra agents to look for you because they found the sedan maybe five minutes ago, but they’re going to break down the door any second and realize I’m not asleep.”

“And you stopped for a snack?” 

“I’m really high, Yassen.” Alex widened his eyes. “Really high. Like I’m floating in space and hungry. It’s crazy. Also, I forgot my phone in the room and couldn’t call you so I figured if I was going back to prison anyway, I might as well have a spot of something nice to eat on the drive.” As if to punctuate his point, he scooped out another bite for himself. “We should leave though,” he added around his mouthful.

Yassen grabbed his arm and began towing him in the direction he came. “I got us a new car. Four blocks from here. We need to hurry.”

“Okay.” Alex held out the cup. “Want a bite? It’s really good.”  
Sighing, Yassen shook his head and continued dragging Alex along. Hopefully, he just looked like an impatient parent eager to stick to a timetable. Alex was hurrying, but it was a bit like herding a cat in that he kept getting distracted as they passed various cacti, antique vehicles, and cowboy memorials. Yassen had to yank him forward every time he paused to point and marvel. Cannabis seemed to have drastically increased his appreciation for everything at the expense of his short term memory.

Fantastic.

“Yassen?” Alex piped up, staggering slightly over an uneven chuck of paving. “Are we there yet? I think we’ve been walking for a really long time, but I also don’t think it’s been that long.”  
“We’ve been walking for two minutes,” Yassen informed him, studiously examining the occupants of each vehicle that passed them. Nothing alarming, but time was fast running out to make a clean getaway. He spotted the black flat tip of the largest display train’s smokestack beyond a copse of trees. The museum. “We’re nearly there. Keep moving.”

Alex hummed as they rounded the corner, entering a large lawned area with picnic tables that stood between them and the parking lot. The large black locomotive hovered in the background, drawing much of the crowd’s attention away from both the lot and the building as families clustered around it for group photos. As far as Yassen could tell, their new car-- another older, silver luxury sedan with a deceptive amount of power under the hood-- had yet to be discovered by the authorities. Getting out of town would be far trickier with so many agents on their tail, but the odds were good that they hadn’t managed to set up proper roadblocks yet. He picked up his pace. 

Twenty feet from the car, Alex waved at the crowd with a wide smile, forcing Yassen to halt if not rip Alex’s arm from its socket. “Look, Yassen! It’s Tamara.”

Yassen whipped around to face the same direction as the boy. A blonde woman froze where she’d been making her way through the crowd near the gift shop exit, eyes locked on them. Around her, three more agents in bulky clothing surged forward as they realized they’d been made.

Damn it.

“FBI! On the ground! You’re under arrest--”

“Get down.” Yassen shoved Alex towards the car, smoothly pulling his gun from his waistband and firing in one continuous motion. His first bullet missed the center of the leading agent’s throat-- a tall, blond man who looked young enough to join the college students now shrieking behind him. It wasn’t a perfect shot, but it hit a major artery. The agent dropped, hands flying to the side of his throat. Tourists screamed, scattering. The other agents crouched against the ground, devoid of cover, and drew their weapons. 

If they’d approached, it was guaranteed that backup was already on its way.

Alex grabbed his arm. “Don’t shoot Tamara, Yassen. She’s nice.”

“She crammed you into a monkey sized rocket to have a knife fight with a lunatic,” Yassen snapped, trying to shake Alex off. The boy stubbornly held on so Yassen shoved the car keys at him. “Get it started. The faster you move, the less likely I am to shoot her. Go.”

Another agent, dark haired and squirrely looking, fired at Yassen as Alex moved away. Yassen fired back, catching the agent across the cheek instead of in the head as he took a step back, angling for the car. Damn. The pistol wasn’t much good long-range; he’d have to get closer if he wanted to get a proper shot in.

This stupid fucking family.

Yassen surged forward, bullet punching a neat hole squarely between the agent’s eyes. 

The third, a sturdy dark haired woman who unfortunately reminded him of Mrs. Jones with her dark skin and short haircut, managed to turn her low crouch into a lunge, slamming into Yassen’s stomach with her shoulder. It was a good instinct-- designed to wind him long enough for her to change to a less vulnerable position. If he’d been less experienced, it would have likely worked.

He grunted, pivoting smoothly onto the balls of his feet and hurling her to the side. At the same time, he drove his elbow into the back of her head, knocking her unconscious before adding a bullet to be safe. 

Four feet away, Agent Knight fired at Yassen as he reached for the fallen agent’s handgun. The bullet ripped past his shoulder-- as well trained as she might be, it was surprisingly hard to counterbalance the human instinct not to want to kill. Most law enforcement types had a desire to protect and serve at their cores, even the jaded ones. Perhaps she’d been trying to incapacitate him. Regardless, the barrel of her gun sharply corrected itself and trained on his chest.

Aborting the move to grab a new gun, he swung his own weapon up, lined up his shot, and hesitated. 

She didn’t.

Already lunging forward, Yassen narrowly avoided taking another bullet through sheer luck. Sweeping her legs out from under her, he drove his palm up into her nose. She dropped and hit the ground hard, but kept her wits about her. Yassen knocked her kick to his chest aside with his forearm and brought his boot down on the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling them break under the force. 

She shrieked and released her weapon, glaring up at him past the blood streaming down her face. 

Yassen kicked it away. “Stay down and you can live.” 

“Why?” she ground out, not quite looking at the bodies of her fallen comrades.

He almost didn’t answer before he ran. Wasn’t entirely sure why he did. “Alex asked.”

O

Taking the keys from Yassen, Alex barreled towards the car. Yassen had a point about the monkey-rocket and knife-fight, but that didn’t mean he wanted Tamara to die. If anything, she thought she was helping him. And the planet. Moreso the planet, but he’d felt included at the time.

Another agent waited by the car. 

Alex’s mouth dropped open into a small circle of surprise. He must have circled around while the others hand made their way through the crowd. 

The man-- a mouse-haired guy in his mid-thirties with a round face-- held up a soothing hand, much like Ben had in the arcade. He didn’t lower his weapon. “Look, little buddy, I’ve got live rounds here. I don’t want to hurt you. Just drop the keys and get down.”

Like hell.

“You need to chill out,” Alex informed him before throwing his milkshake in the man’s face. 

The man let out a gasp of surprise, spine arching backwards, as the cold wet splashed across his eyes. He didn’t lower his gun, however. “Damn it, you little brat, I’m trying to help--”

Alex nailed a roundhouse kick to his knee before following that up by slamming his palm into the man’s nose. Wrestling free the gun from the agents suddenly rigid fingers, he groaned, “I know! Stop helping. Tell everyone to stop trying to help.”

Clearing his vision, the man tackled Alex against the side of the car. With a small cry of pain, Alex felt his head slam into the hardened plastic exterior and accidentally squeezed the trigger. Recoil jarring his wrist, it fired a bullet into the sidewalk. 

Ears ringing, he stared at the handgun as though it had personally betrayed him. What was that for? He didn’t want to shoot anyone! Why was everyone so insistent on this guns thing? 

Fucking America.

Dropping the gun, Alex tried to shove the man off but his legs were pinned as the man attempted to shove him against the ground. “Just hold still--” the man broke off and stared down at Alex’s waist.

For a second, Alex looked at his waist too. What was wrong with it? Had he been shot? Yassen would be unbearable to listen to if Alex had gotten himself shot. Instead, he realized that the tranq darts he’d shoved in his jacket pocket had poked through the fabric of his coat and stabbed the man squarely in the palm. 

Oh. That made things easier.

“It’s the end of the line,” Alex told him, wriggling out from under him as the man fell backwards. He drew up his legs beside him. “Next stop, nighty-night.”

Seeing that Alex had no intention of continuing their fight, the agent blinked a few times as he rolled onto his side, turning his gaze blearily towards where Yassen was disarming Tamara. 

Doing likewise, Alex nodded sagely, still sitting next to him on the pavement. Yassen was a lot of fun to watch when fighting-- he didn’t waste much movement, but somehow stayed in a constant state of motion. Alex would have been content to just watch the Russian go indefinitely. “Don’t worry, he’s just blowing off steam.” 

The agent groaned. 

Alex laughed. “Get it? Because we’re at a train museum-- oh, wait, you passed out.” 

He clambered to his feet as Yassen returned to the car at a run, eyes flicking to the unconscious agent who still wore half his strawberry milkshake on his face like some kind of silly superhero mask. He supposed the man made a crappy hero, even if he had been trying to help. What would his name be? Lactose Intolerant Man? Alex snorted and took a split second to gather up the agent’s weapon and spare clip. “Time to take the express line out of here?”

Yassen squinted at him. “What? Nevermind. Just get in the car.”

Alex blew a raspberry at him as he did as the older man requested, earning him an irritated look as he buckled his seatbelt. Maybe they weren’t his best puns, but damn it, he was high and still hilarious. Yassen just couldn’t appreciate his extremely clever wordplay, probably because English wasn’t his native language. Not that Yassen seemed terrible hindered by the various expressions and idioms most people tended to use. Weren’t puns supposed to exist in every language?

He glared at the man. Damn it, he was funny.

Black skid marks erupted across the pavement as Yassen peeled out, narrowly avoiding running over the fallen agent with a quick glance at Alex. He probably wouldn’t have bothered otherwise. For his part, the teen appreciated the consideration, especially in conjunction with Yassen sparing Tamara. There were never guarantees with Yassen when it came to killing people, but he had tried.

“Oh,” said Alex, looking down at his own hands. He hadn’t consciously realized he’d pilfered the gun and ammo off the unconscious agent. When was that again? A minute ago? A year ago? Cannabis was strange. “I got you a present,” he said, holding them up for Yassen to see.

The man darted a quick glance away from the road as he ran another red light, barely managing to miss colliding with a large gas tanker honking in panic. A black van pursued them through the chaos, discreet red and blue lights flashing from beneath a hidden lightstrip. Fortunately for him and Yassen, local traffic seemed to have no idea how to handle the sudden commotion: brakes screeched and tires skidded as confused passenger vehicles stopped in the middle of the road, forcing the authorities to navigate around. 

“Because you always grab them,” Alex clarified and set them in the center console instead. Another thought penetrated the haze. He checked the clip, mouth dropping open. “Wait a minute! I was right. They used real bullets for you!”

The Russian didn’t answer him, though Alex’s face nearly smashed into the window as Yassen took a corner particularly hard. 

Alex decided to stop making outraged noises. Perhaps he should just let him focus on driving. 

They came to the edge of town in record time. News of their encounter must have traveled fast because the other black van blocked the two lane highway that led back to the interstate. Parked on either side stood two local police cars, lights flashing, while a handful of local cops had drawn their weapons, using their vehicles for cover. A spiked tire-chain had been dragged across the road in front of them.

Alex hummed and turned to Yassen. “How many of those vans did you see?”

“Two,” Yassen snapped, hitting the accelerator. “But they may have other support vehicles.” For a split second Alex wondered if he intended to ram the other cars. He was no expert, but he doubted their little car could make it through, even going as fast as they were going. Perhaps he intended to go off the road and take their luck on the desert floor?

Alex pulled out the pack of gum that concealed the baht’s detonator. “Well, fifty-fifty isn’t so bad. I’ve had worse odds.” He hit the button. 

The black van parked on the road was blown off it’s rear wheels, flipping once to slam down onto the unoccupied police car to the left of it. Frontier cops in dark blue uniforms scattered, shouting to each other as Yassen pressed forward. 

“What was that?” the Russian demanded. 

“A bomb,” Alex said absently, squinting at the smoking mess ahead of them. He hadn’t moved the van more than a few feet to the side-- he’d been hoping to knock it and the chain off the road and leave them a clear path-- but he had certainly distracted the agents trying to bar their way. Better than nothing.

His head slammed into the roof of the cabin as Yassen swerved off the road to avoid the entire mess. Brakes squealed as they hit the rumble strip, shaking the car and making Alex wince as he braced himself against the armrest. Missing the crash by only a handful of feet, Yassen abruptly forced the car back onto the relative safety of the highway. 

Alex twisted to look back. While the police vehicles stayed behind to tend to the victims of the explosion, the second black van pursuing them-- catching up after getting stuck in a civilian gridlock of confused drivers-- swept through the smoke without pause. Judging by the tense look Yassen gave the rearview mirror, he hadn’t missed their tail either.

“Do you have another?” Yassen asked him. 

Alex nodded. “Two, but that was the biggest.”

“Explain.”

Alex’s eyes widened. Now that he thought about it, it was quite the tall order. So much had happened since they’d last seen each other in the hotel room. “There’s a lot.”

“Give me the short version.”

Alex turned back to keep an eye on the black van. It was gaining speed, but Yassen seemed perfectly aware as he put on an equal amount. Desert scrub whipped past them. “Okay. I talked to Smithers today. He’s left MI6 and wanted me to public with him about how they mistreated me, but I said I wanted to stay with you instead, so he gave me gadgets and told me to stay safe. Also, apparently we got ID’d in Scottsdale and that’s how everyone found us. Also, K-Unit tried to tranq me, but I told you all that.”

Yassen’s lips pressed into a thin, grim line. “Toss whatever else he gave you.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” Yassen snapped. “Whatever he gave you can be used to track us. Get rid of it.”

Alex gave a pointed look at the van currently on their tail. “Oh, no. How else could they possibly guess where we are?”

Yassen exhaled harshly. “How do the bombs work?”  
“They’re these little magnetic coins,” Alex told him, perking up and reaching into his pocket to show him. They really were clever little things. Yassen would like them and for a minute Alex was a little sad that they were too busy for him to pull over and see properly. “They adhere to a surface for as long as you want and then you detonate them using this.” He held up the gum pack. “Remember? I used similar ones in my Snakehead--”

A steady, pulsing buzz interrupted him. 

Alex’s eyes lasered in on Yassen’s pocket. “Are you getting a phone call?”

“Don’t--” Yassen was too caught up in driving to remove his hands from the steering wheel, so even though he glowered at him, he couldn’t stop Alex from tugging his flip phone free from his jeans pocket. 

Alex looked at the name on the little exterior screen. “It says Alex. Is that my phone? Maybe it’s me from the future.” Without waiting for an answer, he flipped it open and pressed his ear to it. “Hello?”

“Cub?”

“Hi, Wolf.” Alex sighed. He just realized-- they’d had to abandon all their things. His clothes. His DS. His phone, which K-Unit had apparently found already. Also, it wasn’t himself from the future calling. Shame. “Can’t you just go away, please? I don’t want to go back.”

“Look, brat, you know I’d rather be anywhere else other than saving your arse, but that’s what I’ve been ordered to do so you can damn well hold your ‘please’,” Wolf bit out. In the background, Alex could hear someone-- Snake, perhaps-- hissing at him to be nicer. Alex thought that was a little unnecessary. They all knew how Wolf was, Alex included. He didn’t mean anything by it. “Now I know your thinking isn’t so clear right now, but you need to realize that the man you’re with is extremely dangerous. Whatever he’s told you, you’re not safe and you shouldn’t be off your medication. Can you get away from him or find some way to stop the car?”

Yassen tried to snatch the phone back, but had to replace his hand immediately as the car pulled hard to the right. He must have damaged the alignment somehow when he’d veered off the pavement, leaving him to struggle to control its direction. “Do not speak to them. Hang up right now.”

Alex twisted to look behind them, gripping the phone tighter and leaning out of reach of Yassen’s follow up swipe. “Are you in the van?”

“No, but you can trust the agents who are.”

Alex scoffed and settled back in his seat. “No, I can’t. They’ll just take me back to MI6.”

“Look, I’m not going to pretend to understand whatever issues are between you and Jones, but it can’t be as bad as the trouble you’re in now.” Wolf’s voice dropped into a gentle tone Alex decided he abhorred. It was somehow both thoroughly unnatural and blindingly condescending. “Do you know where you are? Do you know who’s with you in the car right now?”

Alex groaned. “Yes, of course I do. I’m with Yassen. Really, Wolf.”

Yassen made another grab at the phone, knuckles white against the steering wheel. “Stop talking.”

“What does it matter?” Alex asked him. “What could I possibly tell them that would make things worse? They already found us.” Paused long enough to feel his stomach make its own point. “I’m hungry. When can we eat?”

Yassen’s entire face pinched. “Hang up now.”

“Do you know what he’s done? Who he’s killed?” Wolf hesitated. “I don’t know if you know this, but he’s the man who killed your uncle.” The line seemed to suddenly muffle itself as though pulled away from someone's face abruptly. An abrupt, distant snap of, “Shut it, Eagle! He needs to know! Yes, he does. It might help him realize--”

“Of course he did,” Alex said, rolling his eyes. “That’s literally how he was introduced to me. Blunt dropped his photo on his desk and said, ‘This is Yassen Gregorovich, the man who killed your uncle.’” Wolf tried to speak again but Alex cut him off. “No, you shut up, Wolf. I like him and he’s taking care of me so you can fuck right off. I’m not going back to MI6. Jones drugged me and tried to erase me and I’m just so tired of dealing with all that shit. Now go away.”

There was another series of muffled noises before Ben took over on the other end. “Alex? Look, those are some pretty serious accusations. Why don’t we talk them over in person? I’m sure the FBI can arrange to--”

“No. I worked for the CIA once and they won’t do shit to help. Even if they find the drugs, they’ll just pretend they didn’t and send me back.” Alex checked the progress of the van in the rear view mirror. He was tempted to just toss the coin out the window and hope it stuck, but he wasn’t convinced it would. Smithers was clever, but there were laws of physics to consider. They were going too fast for him to visually track the progress of the coin as it fell. What if the magnet wasn’t strong enough at this speed to adhere to the van? What if it fastened to their car instead? 

“Alex, even if that’s the case, there are far, far better ways to go about this.” Ben seemed to be scribbling something on a pad of paper, judging from the sounds. Probably communicating with the others. “If you have problems with MI6, cooperating with your kidnapper is the worst way to--”

“I’m not kidnapped,” Alex insisted. “I left with him on purpose.”

“Well, you’re a child. No one signed you over to him. There is no legal reason why you should be in his custody,” Ben countered. “What else would you call it but kidnapping?”

“How about this? Let’s just agree that Yassen’s my mum now.” Alex rolled his eyes and glanced at the man in question, who looked as though he was trying to actively forget where he was right now through sheer willpower. Kind of like on Air Force One. “Problem solved. I’m not kidnapped, I’m just out with my mum.”

There was a stunned, short silence. “Alex… are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Fox. I’m sick of telling you over and over.” Pausing, Alex pulled the phone away from his face and looked at Yassen with furrowed brows. “Exactly how long do edibles last? I’m still very high.”

Yassen shrugged stiffly. He seemed to have given up on trying to take the phone back. The van was still hot on their tail so Alex feeling chatty was probably the least of his problems at the moment. “At least a few hours. I’m not certain. I’ve never used them personally.”

“Oh.” Alex considered the dashboard for a moment, before glancing back up at Yassen with earnest eyes. “That might be problematic. I don’t think now is a good time to be high.”

Yassen laughed even as he swerved across the double lines to try and put a Winnebago between them and the van. The van did likewise, increasing its speed. Yassen matched it to stay ahead, whatever frustration he’d been directing at Alex evaporating. He snorted. “I believe you’re correct, little Alex.”

Alex grimaced. “And they’re making me extra hungry. Can we get more milkshakes after this? I dropped mine on that agent’s face. I’m starving again.”

“We’ll eat whatever you want.” Yassen shook his head in what struck Alex as a form of light denial, eyes still ficking back to their pursuers. There was only so much he could do: the highway was small and endless, with no significantly sized towns in sight. Off roading for a handful of seconds had only damaged the car and Alex was fairly certain the contract killer wouldn’t ram the other vehicle with Alex in the car. Outrunning them seemed like their only option, but there was nowhere to lose them and the Americans probably had some kind of backup pending.

Alex looked back at Yassen. “Can we shoot their car?”

“I’m almost certain it’s reinforced against that.”

Ahead of them on the road, a steel structure had been constructed above both lanes in order to hold a digital traffic sign. Alex had seen several over the course of their road trip; they usually warned of traffic conditions and offered terse safety reminders. This time however, the words had changed to read AMBER ALERT and a description of their new car and what he assumed was their license plate number. The base of the structure was wide but likely hollow if electrical wiring had been run through it.

Alex bit his lip and hummed, nodding to himself. He could work with that.

Timing was his only issue. Alex rolled down his window and pulled out the second most powerful baht of the trio. He shoved his arm out as far from the car as he could, feeling the wind buffet it and try to force him back. A split second before they passed beneath the sign, Alex hurled the little coin up at the joint connecting the base to the digital readout. The was a sharp thud a metal met metal, echoing slightly before the wind whipped away the sound. Smirking, Alex dropped back in his seat and detonated the charge.

The explosion was almost nothing compared to the sharp screech of twisting metal as the sign crashed down across the road. One corner slammed into the hood of the van, turning the whole mess on it’s side. Glass shattered. Alex couldn’t see exactly how much damage he’d done with the sign blocking his view, but he was reasonably confident he’d stopped their pursuit.

He turned back to Yassen, realizing the phone was still propped open. Whoops. He shut it with a snap and raised his eyebrows. “So food?”   
  



	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! So sorry, I almost forgot to post. Well, more accurately, I remembered three times today while I was away from my computer. Fourth time's the charm, right?!

Ben stared at the phone in his hand. The screen flashed the call duration twice before it ended the connection and returned to the home screen. He glanced back up at his former unit, sparing only a glance for the American team Bravo. “Did anyone else hear him say edibles?”

Snake grimaced at the unused dosage of A216 in his hand. “I suppose it’s possible he was high. He may still be disoriented.”

“What does that matter?” Eagle asked, folding his arms. “So Gregorovich gives him drugs to keep him happy. That doesn’t change the mission. We have to get him out of there.”

Agent Delain, the head of team Bravo, released the radio piece pressed against his ear and shook his head. His other two team members had gone to support local law enforcement, leaving their leader to supervise the SAS men. “Van lost sight of them. Backup chopper is still en route, but we’re flying blind until they spot them and we’re already losing light. We’ve alerted every law enforcement agency in the state, but the odds of catching up aren’t looking good.” 

He held out his hand for the phone and Ben handed it over without complaint. It was unlikely they’d get a trace from the number they called, but it was worth a shot.

Wolf swore. “How did they lose visual contact? They were just supposed to tail them until backup arrived. Did they try to engage?”

“No,” Delain snapped back. “Your stupid kid blew up a fucking monotube sign and seriously injured six agents. Now we’ve lost Gregorovich.”

Ben shook his head and blew out a slow breath. “Damn. This is… I don’t even know what to call this. This is certainly unexpected.”

“That’s a real helpful insight,” Delain sneered, pulling out a smartphone and rapid-fire tapping the screen.

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t it? Sixteen of your agents, plus us, weren’t able to apprehend them using live rounds, body armor, and the element of surprise. Have you seen a bigger task force for just two people, one of which is a sick kid?”

Delain shook his head in disgust, shoving open the door to the motel room and waving another few agents in. Anyone not in active pursuit was now expected to lock down as much evidence as possible. “One of which is an internationally wanted terrorist,” he pointed out, pausing in the doorway. “They should have given us a bigger team. More than two armored vehicles. A helicopter should have been our first option of getting here, not our standby reserve. Hell, they should have given us at least three for air support, even if we didn’t get a location on them until two hours ago.”

Snake tilted his head as the man left and muttered, “He’s an arse, but I’m inclined to agree.”

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “What? You think we should have gone all out with a kid on the run?”

Snake shook his head. “I mean we seriously underestimated Gregorovich. Think about it. He just evaded two dozen operatives trying to bring him in with the handicap of a possibly high, traumatized teenager in tow. I’m beginning to suspect Delain’s right and we got shorted on resources.”

Eagle grimaced. “I’m not sure Cub’s a handicap. Does anyone know how he bombed a sign from a moving vehicle?”

Ben shook his head reluctantly. “He’s used explosives on missions before, but he shouldn’t have any equipment with him now. Not that I know of.” He set his jaw and nodded to himself, pulling out his own phone and flipping it open. “I’ll call the guy who normally outfits him, see if he can figure out where Alex might have gotten ahold of anything like that. He’s good. At the very least, we can rule some stuff out.”

Wolf was oddly silent as he drifted towards the bedside table where they’d found the phone. At a guess, Ben would have said that was Alex’s: the duffel bag atop it had already been tugged open by impatient hands and the sheets of the bed looked mussed, as though someone had taken a nap. It would be awhile before they could confirm: the other agents were fetching the evidence equipment and beyond the phone-- which they’d gotten permission to use and possibly contaminate for the sake of opening a potential line of negotiation with the kidnapper-- they weren’t to touch anything until gloves could be acquired for all on-site personnel. 

Wolf stared at the little purple device resting beside the phone’s charging cable. “Is that a Nintendo whatsit? Gameboy?”

Eagle sidled up beside him. “Nintendo DS, Wolf. Get your decade right.” At Wolf’s look, he shrugged defensively. “My nephew’s got one. Why?”

“Seems like an odd thing to have with you on the run, is all.”

Eagle rolled his eyes. “Well, Alex seems to have a great many surprises for us, including an immunity to tranquilizer darts.”

Wolf shrugged. “A toy for a kidnapped kid. Not sure I’d buy one for my hostage.”

“It could be his from home,” Eagle pointed out. “Or it might be a bribe for cooperating. If Gregorovich’s giving him drugs and filling his head with all sorts of ideas, it makes sense that he’d be nice to him to keep him on his side. What did Alex say? He likes Yassen because he’s taking care of him and MI6 is just the meanest? Classic Stockholm syndrome if I’ve ever seen it.”

Snake hesitated. “Maybe. That comment about Jones drugging and erasing him has me worried. He could just be talking about his time in prison, being forced to take his medication and feeling like he was being erased from his own head or something like that, but things already feel so strange. Ben’s issues getting information from MI6’s databases might look like Cub was being erased, at least from a certain point of view.” He waved the syringe at them. “I don’t even rightly know which drug I’m holding, so who’s to say the kid doesn’t have anxiety about whatever they’ve been sticking him with. I’m not saying that his psychological issues aren’t significant, but Alex seems capable of _ some _ reason. He was certainly connected enough to reality to trick us and escape. I don’t feel great about this. Any of it.”

Frowning, Ben shut his own phone and looked at his old team. “Can’t get through to the right department. He may not be in with the time difference, but I’m not entirely sure what’s going on.”

Surprisingly, Eagle was the first to nod, despite spending the entire night playing Devil's advocate. “Something is, clearly. MI6 is never upfront, but what are they hiding this time?”

“It’s hard to say.” Snake chewed on his lower lip and stared at the syringe in his hand for a solid minute before quickly striding to the door. He flagged down a passing American agent and held up the little vial of liquid. “Can I get an evidence bag?”

O

Tamara Knight glared at the bandage on her nose in the reflection of her hand mirror. Her blonde hair had half flopped out of it’s neat bun, but she could hardly fix it one handedly even if was irritatingly untidy. At least she had relative privacy in the spare interrogation room, tucked deep inside the small local police precinct the FBI had taken over as a temporary field office. Outside, phones warbled as concerned residents reported gunshots and car crashes while various multi-agency personnel ran back and forth through the halls trying to coordinate between teams. Kingman’s police force had never had to deal with more than one or two outside agencies at one time before and it showed. It would be at least a few hours before the FBI could finish assessing the damage and collecting evidence.

It might as well have been a million years. 

She hissed through her teeth. Her wrist was a glove of agony in it’s brace-- the painkillers the EMT had given her had yet to kick in. It would be a few hours before she could be transported to the nearest clinic for an x-ray to see the extent of the damage. As much as she hated it, it seemed fair. Given Gregorovich’s proclivity for neck and head shots, several of her teammates needed the emergency attention far more than she did. Some had to be dead.

Cold eyes. Cracking bones. Copper blood. 

_ Alex asked. _

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Gregorovich had taken Alex hostage. What kind of fucked up dynamic did they have that he was doing the kid favors in combat? Alex certainly hadn’t acted like a hysterical, unstable hostage. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time MI6 had misrepresented certain details of a mission. It was hardly uncommon in the spy world. Normally, it would take weeks of coordination before the two organizations would agree to work on large scale projects for just that reason. Facts were to always be double checked and risk was rarely accurately portrayed. 

This situation was nothing like what Jones had described. Obviously, something was going on.

Awkwardly hefting her smart phone in her non-dominant hand, she checked her email for the 40th time that hour. She’d already called in a quick report to her boss, but had yet to hear back. At least she was being left alone.

There was a soft knock on the door before a brunette man poked his head in. “Sorry to bother you, miss,” he said, holding a thick black clipboard that looked like it could withstand a nuclear strike. Blue eyes flicked up from whatever was written on the sheet of paper to her face. “I’m a medic with the Kingsman fire dept. I was told you might need emergency medical treatment?”

She sighed. “Is this about the x-rays?”

“Afraid not. Have you already been examined?”

Tamara blew air past her lips, fighting the impulse to snap. Intellectually she knew that the various organizations running around were bound to trip over each other, but she was in pain and certainly not eager to answer the same questions over and over again. “Yes. I’m just waiting for x-rays.”

“Oh, I see,” the man said, wincing as he took in her splint. Pulling a pen from the top, he clicked it and offered it to her. “Could I get your signature saying you denied a second examination for my records?”

Understanding be damned. She glared at him, gesturing to her wrist with her good hand.

He set the clipboard on the table beside her, shrugging helplessly. “I’m sorry, miss. It’s required. It doesn’t have to be tidy, just there.”

Tamara set her phone atop the clipboard with a muttered curse, scrawling the pen across the paper in a loose facsimile of what a five-year-old might consider a signature. “There. Happy?”

“Yes, thank you so much. I’ll get out of your hair now,” the man said, turning to the door as another group approached. He stiffened in surprise.

Tamara nearly did the same. What now?

“You look familiar,” Ben Daniels said to him, pausing. He crossed his arms. “What’s your name?”

“Daniel. I’m with the fire department,” the man said, sliding past him in the doorway. “Have I treated you? Sorry if I don’t recall. I’ve been running around all day.”

One of the SAS men shrugged, a blonde man who Tamara recalled went by Snake, and scooted out of his way. “I guess we’re making all sorts of new friends today.”

“I swear he looks familiar,” Ben insisted, frowning as he watched the man disappear into the throng of bustling workers. He turned his attention back to Tamara abruptly as he teammates finished filing into the tiny room. “Actually, we were hoping to talk with you about the case.”

Tamara grimaced, gripping her opposite elbow with her uninjured hand. Tried to mentally force the muscles around her injured hand to relax. “Now’s not a great time. Is it important? ”

“Afraid so,” Snake said, glancing at her wrist appraisingly. “We need to talk to you about Alex. In more than passing.”

She shifted on her feet, shrugging slightly. Her orders were clear when she’d called in asking about the British team: offer no details about Alex’s time with the CIA, no matter who asked or why. She could acknowledge that she knew him but not how and she could provide vague insight into his personality. Nothing more. “I’m not sure there’s much I can tell you. I only met him briefly. Twenty minutes tops.”

Well, if you didn’t count all that time she’d spent trying to help him escape. It was mostly a blur, given her broken bones at the time. Why did this kid somehow correlate with mission she got injured on?

The one called Wolf cleared his throat. “Then why are you here?”

“I suppose MI6 is rather desperate for any sort of in-road with the kid,” she pointed out. “You were his team, right? You must have worked with him a lot more than I did. What do you think is going on?”

Snake hesitated, exchanging glances with the other men. “We’re not sure. Lots of wild theories, but nothing concrete. Listen… you want what’s best for Alex, right?”

“Right,” she said slowly, pressing her lips firmly together. 

“He makes it sound so dodgy. It’s not, really.” Smiling reassuringly, Ben flapped a hand as if to wave her sudden distrust away. “Nothing bad, I promise. We just need a favor. Did you notice how odd that medicine they gave us to stab Alex with is? That’s it’s not identified?”  
Tamara paused. “What do you mean?”

“A216 isn’t in any of the medical training, I received,” Snake told her. “Not that I’m a proper doctor, but I tried researching it. It doesn’t exist. I even consulted with a psychiatrist but he’d never heard of it either. Also, why do they want us to prioritize giving it to him above bringing him in? It makes no sense. Nothing can clear up his thinking that quickly and his thinking seems pretty clear as it is.”

Tamara snorted. “I hear he was high, but yes, he wasn’t exactly as helpless as I’d been led to believe. Ask Rogers. He’s sleeping off a milkshake nap.” She paused. “So what’s the favor?”

“Well, since MI6 is being so obtuse about what A216 actually is, we figured the next best thing to do is to see if anyone else can identify it. Such as the FBI’s crime lab.” Snake took a deep breath. “We might have submitted the vial they gave us as evidence from the motel room Gregorovich rented. You know, like it was among their possessions. It’ll probably take a while before they realize the mistake and hopefully they’ll test it before then since this is a priority case, but do you have any way to get your hands on the results?”

Tamara nodded reluctantly. “Possibly. Isn’t it probably just a psychiatric drug?”

Snake shook his head. “Not a known one.”

Eagle spoke up for the first time. “Look, this isn’t a trap or anything. We’re just worried about the kid. He said some stuff on the phone call that made it clear he distrusts MI6 and Jones specifically. We just want to cross everything off our list. It could be normal drugs. We just want to know one way or another.”

She tilted her head. “I can understand that.” Hesitated. “He’s really in trouble, isn’t he?”

Blowing a slow breath past her lips, she considered them. What the fuck was going on with Jones and MI6? Sure, these guys were mostly SAS but slipping their own resources into the FBI labs to double check their origins because you can’t trust the head of your operation? Christ. Then again, Jones had also been involved in whatever debacle had led to Alex being a pint-sized agent in the first place, so it certainly wasn’t out of the realm of her understanding.

Daniels cleared his throat. Tamara knew damn well his eyes hadn’t left her face since they’d begun talking, searching for any hint of deceit. He was the only spy in the room, apart from herself. “I hate to overshare, but there are a few things you should know. I’ll give you the quick version. About this facility and his condition….”

The CIA agent considered them a minute later, eyes narrowed. “Alex was in prison with Gregorovich and left to actively hallucinate and suffer? For months?”

Daniels spread his hands helplessly. “As far as we can tell. I mean, we’ve got theories. He might have defected or is working for Gregorovich. He might really be kidnapped. He could be on a super secret mission--”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Tamara snapped. “All of his missions are super secret. If he were on one, MI6 wouldn’t be scrambling to hit him full of unknown drugs and take him back. Whatever it started as, it certainly isn’t a mission anymore. This kid is either on the run or kidnapped. Either way, I’m certain Gregorovich is attached to him for god knows what reason.”

Eagle’s eyes narrowed. “Attached how?”

“What gave you that idea?” Wolf crossed his arms. 

Tamara’s lips thinned. “I asked him why he didn’t kill me,” she said, nodding to her arm. “Before he ran, he said ‘Alex asked.’ Between that, the DS you found, and the ‘Yassen is my mum now’, it’s obvious that he’s not treating the kid like a hostage. I’m beginning to doubt he was one in the first place.”

Snake rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck,” he said at last. “I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing.”

So far, what she was reading from the shifting, uncomfortable SAS men seemed genuine enough. Concern, agitation, uncertainty. Agent Daniels, however… she couldn’t be sure. He seemed earnest, but a little too composed. You could never be certain of another agent’s training. It could very well be a trap and the others didn’t know it, but she doubted it. Had they not mentioned the drug’s oddness, she wouldn’t have second guessed it. Everything about this case was so weird that nothing truly stuck out.  

At any rate, she had little to lose by agreeing to share hypothetical information. So what if it was a trap? Her career didn’t rely on her relationship with MI6 in any real capacity and she could always ask her superiors how to handle it going forward. She didn’t have to ever get back to these men with the info at all. Her risk was low. Cooperating could gain her plenty, however. A leg up in this investigation, for one. Whatever his weird relationship with Gregorovich was, the poor kid clearly needed help and if MI6 was going to be a hindrance than she wanted to have as much insight as she could manage before they caught up to him.

“I can probably get my hands on the test results,” she said at length. “The FBI and CIA aren’t enthusiastic about coordinating, but we get the job done. Since I’m the only agent assigned, I can temporarily request access. They might not give it to me, but I can usually persuade my boss to intervene and forward me whatever I need. I’ve got the clearance for it.” Tamara shifted on her feet and grimaced. “Normally I wouldn’t do this sort of thing, but I like Alex. No matter how you frame it, he’s in trouble.”

Wolf muttered, “No kidding.”

“I don’t think I need to tell you what a terrible idea it would be to tell this to Jones,” Daniels added. 

She gave him an unimpressed look. “I don’t work for her. Give me a secure way to contact you and I’ll look into it. No promises.”

Five minutes later, following the tense but genuine gratitude of the men, Tamara found herself staring at a random scribbling of phone numbers and sighed. Shoved it into her pocket. 

Christ, what a day. Maybe she would get lucky and the test results would be important to helping the damn kid after all. Chances were good that they would be worthless. Still. At least this was something she could do to help, given that soon she might not be able to do much at all. The med-tech that had braced her wrist had admitted that she had to have at least one broken bone in this mess. Unless she could spontaneously develop ambidexterity overnight, she was likely to find herself parked at a desk within hours. 

The metal chair made a satisfying slamming noise as she kicked it.

The last time Alex had just disappeared, she’d trusted MI6 to handle it. Tamara’s reach was limited anyway, but it still irked her to realize that she’d been naive to assume Jones would offer Alex any real concern. Not that Tamara disagreed with all of the head of MI6’s choices. Despite her liking the kid, she knew the world was bigger than one boy. But why hadn’t he been removed from the spy world entirely once the threat had passed? Alex being the only choice in the heat of the moment was one thing, but she was beginning to get the impression that Alex was being kept on hand indefinitely. 

_ Once the moment of crisis passes, you send the damn kid home! Jesus. _

It was demoralizing, really. Even if they recovered him, he’d probably get shipped straight back to London for “treatment”. She’d be lucky if she ever heard a word about him again. There wasn’t much she could do. Not by herself.

Tamara considered her phone screen. It was breaking nine kinds of protocol to go over her boss’s head like this, but…. 

Joe Byrne had given her his cell number for essentially this reason after all.

  
  



	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone!
> 
> Okay, okay. I was going to split up today's chapter but it's been awhile since I've done such a short chapter and gotten away with it. Besides, I like giving a little bit of Alex's and Yassen's POVs, so I guess there's that too. Anyway, I adore your comments and love hearing everyone's thoughts. :D

Yassen grimaced and dragged his hand through Alex's wet hair, separating the strands between his fingers. Mahogany dye stubbornly clung to the shafts. "It's not coming out. We'll have to use bleach."

Alex's face creased. "Okay, just be careful. Jack bleached her hair once. It turned to straw and broke off. She had to get an emergency pixie cut."

"I doubt we'll be so lucky," Yassen muttered. His own short hair had bleached back to blonde in minutes and awaited new dye, while he'd busied himself with shaving off his annoying, scratchy beard. Sweet freedom and airflow traced his face for the first time in days. Alex had naturally been a pain about his hair and had opted for a garden variety color remover, but after three attempts, had yet to achieve anything beyond a barely perceptible lightening. Yassen dragged a comb through the strands before dropping one of the motel towels atop of the boy's head. "Dry that."

Yassen glanced at the cheap plastic clock that hung beside their door. One in the morning. He didn't doubt the time: the last few hours had been a near exhausting blur of driving, destroying his phone, and changing cars every few towns. Once he'd been satisfied that they hadn't been tailed to their latest hideout, he'd finally stopped to find them a room and begin the business of changing their appearances yet again.

Alex poked his head out of the bathroom, dutifully rubbing the scratchy beige cotton across his hair. "What color did you grab?"

Yassen tossed the box to him without a word, already running through his mental calculations. They were at least a three and a half hour drive from Kingman, not counting the time he'd spent taking highways at random to confuse the trail of stolen and fraudulently purchased vehicles. There was plenty of distance between them and the authorities, but there was no point in pressing his luck, especially if they did as he predicted and issued a nationwide amber alert for a missing child instead of the statewide one for the missing cruise ship passengers.

"Red?" Alex raised an eyebrow as he dropped his towel on the floor. "That's not going to make us stand out. At all."

"It's auburn."

"That's just another word for red." Alex tossed the box back to him, glancing at the TV screen.

The first thing Yassen had done when they'd gotten the room was turn on the local news channel. At this hour they wouldn't really cover anything breaking, but they could get the recap of what had aired this evening, shortly after their high-speed car chase. So far, nothing that could remotely apply to their escape; a handful of muggings, some local legislature issues, a pop star's recent visit to a children's hospital in the area. Perhaps news of their exploits was being suppressed in order to complicate Scorpia's efforts to locate them.

Yassen studied the teen in the flickering light as he set the box down on the small writing desk positioned by the door. The cannabis had worn off an hour ago and with a jolt he realized that Alex was overdue for his usual round of opiates by about two hours. Surely he was in pain by now. The boy hadn't said anything, however. Seemed cheerful and relaxed, if anything.

He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest.

Many people became addicted to the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of danger lapping at their heels. It wasn't remotely uncommon in his line of work: he enjoyed it himself to some extent, though he wouldn't say it made the job worth it for its own sake. It was too fleeting to put much value in. That hadn't stopped several of his coworkers from pushing the limit until it eventually pushed back. If Alex had become conditioned to that sort of risk-reward, Yassen's efforts to set him up in obscure safety might as well be moot.

Reaching into his pocket, he asked, "Pills?"

Alex nodded and held out his hand.

"How do you feel?"

The boy swallowed his evening dose and studied Yassen. "I'm sober, if that's what you're asking."

Yassen made no effort to conceal his scrutiny. In the end, he opted to be direct. "Just don't get addicted to danger too. It's hard enough keeping up with you as it is."

Alex laughed, to Yassen's surprise. He'd half expected another fight, or at least some resentment, at the implied accusation. "No, no, that's not it. I mean, parts of that were fun, but most of it was as much of a pain as it always is."

Yassen stepped into the small bathroom and began combining the small bowl of bleach powder he'd prepped with developer. "And yet you're in a great mood."

Following, Alex shrugged and leaned against the sink. "I'm just not as helpless as I thought I was. My fighting wasn't great, but it was okay. I could think on my feet. Running wasn't a problem."

Yassen gave him an amused look, tugging on plastic gloves. "You're welcome."

"Okay, fine. Thanks for keeping me in shape, you were right," Alex allowed, rolling his eyes as he obeyed Yassen's hand gesture and stood in front of the mirror. He tilted his head to allow Yassen to spread the noxious white paste across his hair, scrunching his face as the acrid smell hit him. "How long do I have to leave it in?"

"Since you insist on keeping it long," Yassen told him. "At least forty minutes."

Alex groaned. "But I'm tired. I want to go to bed soon."

Yassen shook his head. "We're not sleeping here. This room is just for changing our appearances and tossing your gadget man's toys."

Alex sighed. "I don't want to. There's no tracking devices in them- he designed them that way specifically. He's on the run himself now because he wants to go public about MI6's abuse. Apparently Jones is looking into more child agents and he can't bear to see it happen again. They're looking for him too. He won't sell us out."

"Forgive me for not having faith in yet another MI6 agent with an agenda." Yassen began mixing himself the fresh color. "Lying comes with the territory."

"He wasn't lying," Alex insisted. "Think about it. Why would he? What benefit would he get from placing trackers in the stuff he gave me? I was already alone, sitting in front of him, with no way to contact you. He could have stabbed me with a tranquilizer dart right there or drugged the coffee he bought me. Hell, it's Smithers: if he wanted to knock me unconscious, he'd use a spring loaded giraffe or something and I wouldn't have seen it coming."

"Do not forget your old unit arrived mere minutes later. Their timing was convenient." Yassen gave the boxed instructions a cursory glance before he began working the mixture through his hair. Focused on the sides of his head behind his ears, the spots he almost always forgot.

He wasn't quite ready to admit it, but the boy had a point. Alex had been alone with one of the only MI6 agents he trusted and high. Easy pickings wouldn't begin to describe it. Why would MI6 hesitate to strike?

Perhaps they'd truly written Alex off as a loss, despite their attempts to salvage his youth. If all went according to Yassen's plan, Alex would resume growing within a matter of weeks. His opiate problem alone could easily render him an unreliable agent in the field. If so, his primary value might be as leverage against the assassin: Yassen's proposed prison deal made that clear to anyone with passing familiarity with his choices in the last few months.

He fought the urge to sigh aloud.

"Not really." Alex grimaced and stared at the ground. "Why go through the trouble of making it look like they were raiding the room if they already knew where I was? They could have picked me up at the arcade directly. He said it himself that it was only a matter of time before some state trooper spotted our plates. We were ID'd in Scottsdale by the CIA when I stole those pills. He just saw the report."

Yassen shook his head. "If what he says is true."

"Why give me gadgets at all then? I used them to escape. He could have just as easily not given me anything and stuck a tracker on me some other way. He's clever enough." Alex took in an annoyed breath and used a delicate finger to scratch his forehead. The bleach smeared across his skin anyway and he grimaced. "How much longer? This itches."

"Maybe you weren't the target."

Alex shrugged. "That still doesn't make sense. Again, he could use an invisible tracker and not give me anything. I was plenty happy just to see him; I didn't need presents to trust him. Besides, why let me go just as they were raiding the room? It ensured I couldn't meet you there anymore and I'd be more valuable as a hostage anyway. If they wanted to follow me back to you, why the pageantry of raiding the room? Why give me bombs to use against them? Why outfit me with a bullet proof shirt that protected me from the darts? If they were trying to get me to compromise you somehow, they could have stuck a tracker on me in passing. Why risk contacting me at all? MI6 could have just sat outside the room and waited for you to come back for me with the new car. Face it. Smithers has gone rogue."

Yassen grimaced. "What did he give you?"

Alex dug into his pockets and gave Yassen a stern look. "I'm not throwing them away," he warned the other man, dropping a small coin, a tiny plastic button, and a pack of gum on the plastic countertop. He reached into his other pocket and revealed a slightly larger silver iPod than the one he'd had in prison. "My bullet proof shirt is on the bed. He improved the design from when I saw Cray. Now it's machine washable! Ironically, the tag says to wash on delicate."

"I imagine that's more for the washer's sake." Yassen rinsed his hands and dried them before picking up each item and examining them one by one. The remaining baht was hardly a mystery to him, not after seeing them in action and hearing of Alex's previous exploits. What was truly impressive was how much explosion had been packed into an eighth of an inch thickness. Scorpia would wipe out a small country to acquire someone of his talents. He set it down and gave a cursory look at the gum pack, not spotting any obvious bugs or tracers. Not that he would. He held up the plastic button. "What's this?"

Alex grinned. "It's a panic button."

Yassen rolled his eyes and checked his pockets, realizing he was out of cigarettes. His night was only getting better. "Of course it is."

"That will send my location to him directly, but only if I activate it. I'm supposed to use it if you start beating me or something." Alex held up the iPod, scooting onto the counter beside Yassen and showing him the screen. "Look at this! He upgraded it. It can do all the things the old one could, only this one interrupts surveillance signals and replaces them with white noise. Also, it can make phone calls but it takes four minutes to connect to a satellite. It was too detectable by casual surveillance when it was a regular phone so it doesn't automatically connect."

Yassen trailed his finger across the trackpad. The tiny screen went blank and abruptly opened a list of music files.

"It's fingerprint coded to me," Alex supplied helpfully, bringing back up the surveillance menu. "No one else can use any of the special features."

Yassen checked his hair in the mirror. The dye would need a few more minutes. Glanced back at Alex, who hadn't taken his eyes off of him.

Damn it.

Logical arguments weren't what he was expecting from Alex, not with how he'd been lately, but of course the boy had to surprise him. It was every bit as reassuring as it was annoying.

Admittedly, the odds of Smithers setting them up were low. His loyalty to Alex was too prevalent in Alex's recountings to be truly suspicious now. If anyone within MI6 were going to make an issue of the boy's treatment, Yassen would have guessed the gadget man before anyone else.

The most likely scenario he could envision was that Smithers' help was genuine, if woefully idealistic: Yassen doubted the man would get much traction on his quest for justice and would probably be taken out by his former employers before the end of the week. The man had to know that. It explained the obvious care to ensure his devices couldn't lead the authorities to Alex and was probably the main reason why he hadn't insisted that Alex go with him, even if Yassen's reputation made him a counter-intuitive babysitter. He had to know the odds of failure were higher than those of success.

The boy showed him the screen again, featuring what appeared to be a Swedish rap group. "Did I ever show you the music he loads on these? This band is weeeird….."

Yassen nodded absently, feeling his stomach sink as Alex began flicking through artists. He knew he wouldn't take these little gadgets away. Not only did they seem to make Alex happy (tangible proof that not all adults had used him and cast him aside without concern), but Alex hadn't even attempted to conceal them from him- not even that little damned button Yassen would have never noticed otherwise.

Alex knew that. He'd just dumped his trust and happiness into Yassen's lap without hesitation.

Yassen might be a lot of things but he wasn't a traitor. Not lightly. Not to John's boy.

He took a deep breath and dragged a tired hand across his face. "Fine. You can keep them. But-" he held up a hand as Alex brightened "-if I even suspect they're actively being used to track us, they go. No arguments."

"Some arguments, but yes, deal." Alex yawned. His hair had lightened far beyond what nature had given him, making his thin brown eyebrows look almost black in comparison. "How much longer on the bleach? The itching is getting worse.."

"Ten minutes," Yassen said, glancing at the wall clock. Surely there was a 24-hour gas station somewhere that sold cigarettes. Optimism wasn't his strong suit, but his oncoming nicotine cravings were happy to bridge the gap in his psyche. "Then we'll dye it and keep moving."

"Okay." Alex shut his eyes and leaned back against the mirror. White-yellow bleach smeared across the glass. Yassen hissed through his teeth and stepped forward, but Alex flopped his forward without bothering to open his eyes or wait to get scolded. "Will we get to Vegas by tomorrow?"

Yassen shook his head. "We need to kill time. Las Vegas is the obvious destination based on the area they found us in. They'll have as many agents and security teams monitoring all inroads into the city for the next few days, as many as they can spare. I'll need time to safely locate my contact once we're there anyway, so it's best that we wait until we've been deprioritized. We need to lay low for at least a week."

"That makes sense." Alex's breathing was beginning to slow. "So where to next?"

Yassen turned on the faucet and stooped to rinse his hair under it, partially to buy himself time to answer. He watched brown-red eddies swirl down the drain. "The Grand Canyon is nice this time of year," he said casually. "Not too far from here, actually. Lots of tourists to blend in with. You wanted to see it, yes?"

Alex started and smiled. "Really? It isn't too far out of the way?"

Yassen shrugged and dragged a towel across his scalp. It came away with a few small streaks of dye. Ah, well. "We have plenty of time." He tapped the faucet. "Come. Time to rinse. Tell me everything you and Smithers discussed."

O

Alex groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, resting his forehead against the glass of his window. It was the third time he'd gone seeking it's cooler temperature for relief, and the spot he'd chosen had already warmed to non-rewarding temperatures. He wiggled in his seat, miserably trying to find another cold spot.

"Do you want me to pull over?" Yassen asked him.

"I'm not going to throw up again. Just feverish and aching all over." He twisted uncomfortably in his seat and grumbled, "You'd think my body was punishing me for all that running. I didn't even get injured." He thought of the way his hip had slammed into the dumpster and his head against the side of the car. "Much."

"There are far worse things than being sore." Yassen snorted. "Any hallucinations?"

"Just the crusher this morning. Nothing since." Alex popped his eyes open, impatiently shoving his newly dyed hair out of his eyes. Surprisingly enough, it didn't look as unnatural as he'd thought it would on either him or Yassen. All the time in the car meant they still had the slight tans they'd picked up in Gibraltar, despite it being winter still, and so their hair color didn't pop as much as he'd feared against his complexion. Not that he loved the look, but at least it wasn't obviously a disguise. The assassin had finally relented on the stupid false glasses Alex had long since gotten sick of carrying anywhere, so that was quite nice. "How long until we get there?"

They'd only been in the car for about five minutes and already Alex was feeling the need to escape. The quartered edible he'd taken had yet to kick in and help manage his pain, but he had no intention of asking Yassen to stop and wait. Alex had been too ill to even consider being in the car all morning and they hadn't been able to leave until one in the afternoon. He'd rather just get it over with now so he could pass out in whatever town Yassen picked. Letting his head flop to the side, he stared out the window at the landscape as it passed by.

The man seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "We're about forty minutes away from Tusayan, not counting a fuel stop. It's essentially a tourist town, so I'm less concerned about us blending in. I'll get us a room as soon as we arrive so you-"

"Yassen! Stop! Pull over," Alex snapped, grabbing his door handle. The safety feature refused to allow him to actually exit until Yassen had pulled sharply to the side of the highway and brought them to an abrupt halt.

"Are you going to be ill?" Yassen demanded. Alex didn't stick around to explain as he staggered out of his seat and onto the dirt. "Alex!"

Alex was going to be ill, but it had less to do with his own chemical withdrawal and more to do with the small corpse in the very early stages of decay. The sickly smell was already enough to make him gag. He approached carefully, trying not to inhale too deeply as he drew closer. Some breed of dusky colored dog lay with it's limbs unnaturally stiff, obviously struck by a passing motorist and left to perish alone. Not that whoever had hit it could do much- the dog lacked any sort of collar and there were probably no vets this far out in the middle of nowhere. He'd seen dozens of animal corpses lining the shoulder over the last few weeks, but not the little tan bit of fur clinging to the side of the unmoving creature.

It was a small miracle he'd spotted it's shuddering at all.

He crouched, trying his very best to avoid touching the dead mother as he gently scooped up the puppy. Alex was hardly an animal expert, but it couldn't be more than a few weeks old. It regarded him with exhausted dark brown eyes, chest rising and falling with obvious effort..

"Hello there," he murmured. "Did you get left out here all alone?"

Yassen sighed somewhere behind him, having evidently followed him when Alex failed to do as expected. "Put it back. We don't have time for this."

Alex shot him a look. "What happened to we have plenty of time?"

Yassen didn't even bother disputing that. He fished out a cigarette and gave Alex a heavy look as he lit it. "It's probably riddled with fleas and disease. Come."

"I don't see anything wrong with it." Alex cradled it to his chest as it tried to move its weak limbs, causing him to nearly drop it. "He's probably just dehydrated and hungry."

"It's just a dog, Alex. We're nowhere near a clinic and it probably wouldn't last long even if we found one." Yassen's voice wasn't particularly anything; not cold, not gentle. Just factual. Alex tried to hold it against him but couldn't quite. "If you want to be kind, you can put it out of its misery."

Alex shook his head. The puppy let out a small whimper. It was a little chilly out, so Alex covered it with the flap of his jacket and rested it against his bullet proof shirt. Not that he was much better at holding a stable body temperature, but he figured it was better than nothing. "No. I'm taking him."

"Alex-"

"If that's really the kindest thing to do, why haven't you put me out of my misery? Why are you bothering with any of this if-" Alex broke off and glared at the ground, lips twisting.

He didn't really want to have this discussion, not when everything felt this raw again. Maybe it was just a mood swing or something. He sighed and shook his head, still staring at the hard, rocky earth around them. "Look, I know he'll probably die. I doubt he's old enough to be away from his mother. I get it. I just don't want to leave him here. At least if we take him with us, he can die warm in the car. The only time you'll lose is when you have to pull over so I can bury him."

Yassen didn't answer for a long minute. "And if he doesn't die?"

Alex shrugged. "I'm sure a vet in town will hold onto him if they don't have any shelters. I'm not daft, Yassen. I know we can't keep him."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with a sort of moodiness that mostly originated from the teen. Another car whipped past them on the highway, slowly fading as it disappeared further down the stretch of empty road.

At the sound of Yassen's low groan, Alex knew he'd won.

The man muttered something Alex couldn't understand as he passed him. At this rate, the very first Russian words he'd learn would be curses.

Alex snorted. Something told him he'd need them.

While Yassen finished his cigarette, Alex busied himself with wrapping the little wiggly thing in one of the spare shirts Yassen had bought him this morning. One terrible swaddling job later, Alex studied the little creature encased in the folds. Other than being vaguely beige, it's fur was speckled with irregular reddish-orange and dark brown bits. Tiny, triangular ears stuck out from its rounded head, every bit as dark as it's little black nose. A proper mutt then. He watched it's chest rise and fall for a minute before it occurred to him that it was watching him with the same intensity.

"Are you thirsty, little buddy?" Grabbing a water bottle from the back seat, Alex unscrewed the cap and poured a few drops over it's muzzle. A pink tongue reluctantly lapped at the trickle.

Yassen pulled the keys out his jeans pocket with a snap. "Don't tell me you're one of those people who baby-talks animals."

Alex scowled at him. "Of course not. Baby talking human babies is condescending enough."

"God forbid you condescend to an animal," Yassen grumbled.

Alex settled the bundle on his lap and continued dispensing water to it a few drops at a time as Yassen started up the engine. The pup whined a little as they began to move. Alex hugged it to his chest to stabilize it, but there was little he could do about the car being in motion. "People already treat them poorly enough as it is," Alex pointed out. "The least we can do is not be complete arses about it."

Yassen seemed to consider his words carefully. "I had no idea you were an animal lover."

Alex shrugged, a little embarrassed to have the term applied to him. It made him think of crunchy all-natural types with pushy attitudes and needlessly specific diets. Or those crazy cat lady types who dressed their pets in outfits and threw weddings for their cats. "Not really. I just can't pretend that humans are the only ones who suffer or feel happy when it stops."

Yassen shrugged. "I didn't say you were an extremist. I just didn't realize you had such concern."

Alex looked out the window and hummed. Glancing down at his lap, he realized a little pink tongue was hunting for more water and resumed his drip feeding. "I think more about what happened to that bull than I do Marco," he admitted.

"Understandable. I got stuck working with him for a week. I'd have preferred the bull."


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Just another fun transitional chapter. You know I can't give our two boys a break for long, right?

Yassen pulled into the remote gas station, sparing a quick glance at Alex and his mutt. Over the last fifteen minutes, the tiny thing seemed to have revived and was clearly no longer on the active decline. Yassen grimaced. Not that it meant it would survive the night-- he simply now doubted it would pass within the hour. It would have been so much easier if it had. As much as he’d like to insist they abandon it to its fate as soon as possible, he knew without a shadow of doubt that it would harm Alex’s emotional state to do so. He seemed to have drawn some unfortunate parallels between himself and the dying canine, ones that Yassen didn’t want to be responsible for resolving; he honestly couldn’t think of any scenario that wouldn’t complicate things for Alex psychologically.

It was best to just let this one play out, inconvenient or no. 

If there was a silver lining to be found, at least the animal had given Yassen an excuse to finally enact Briar’s advice and describe Alex’s personality back to him. Something concrete. He’d thought about trying several times before, but Alex was generally either too ill to do much more than complain or was actively utilizing the spy traits Yassen wasn’t supposed to reinforce. Yassen quailed internally-- it had sounded easy, but he was probably the least equipped for this task out of all of them. At least Alex’s fondness for animals had been clear cut and wholly unexpected. Certainly Alan Blunt would have no interest in it and, given Alex’s own reluctance to apply the term to himself, it would seem that it too had flown under his radar. Tentatively, Yassen was willing to call it a small success.

Unless, of course, Alex blamed himself for the stupid animal dying somehow and found a way to internalize it.

His fingers twitched in want of a smoke; he’d be sure to sneak one in while Alex browsed the candy aisle. The dog would likely die regardless of what Yassen did, only now he had to put up with it until it finally chose to do so. Hopefully, Yassen could stay a step or two ahead of Alex’s response to that and find some way to reassure him. Theoretically, he supposed it might survive until they could leave it at a local clinic, but either way there was a definite end to the trouble it brought.  With luck, Alex could weather the consequences, though Yassen suspected with no small amount of dread that this was somehow going to end in tears.

The teen gently stroked the mutt’s head. “Feeling better, little buddy?”

Yassen’s eyes narrowed. All he needed now-- with the CIA, MI6, and Scorpia hot on his tail and Alex’s health randomingly ping-ponging in every direction known to man-- was for the troublesome brat to get even more attached to the damn thing. Yassen refused to go into the business of acquiring strays. His human one was nearly killing him as it was. “Don’t you dare name it.”

“What? Does it make it a pet if you name it?” Eyeing him sideways, the boy had the nerve to laugh. He picked up his little bundle and examined the puppy’s face, mock-frowning as though in serious thought. “Let’s see. What do you look like? A Fido? Duke, maybe? No. Not quite right.”

Yassen gave him a pointedly unamused look, not quite able to ignore the bait. “He looks like more trouble than the extra hour of his life is worth. You’re the one who’s going to be sad when this ends, little Alex.”

“I was always going to be sad when it ended. A name won’t change that,” Alex said absently. He grinned suddenly. “And you just gave him a pretty good one. Trouble.” He gently shook the bundle. “You hear that, Trouble? Yassen named you.”

“That doesn’t make him our pet,” Yassen said, shoving open his door with more force than was strictly needed. “And you’re doing all of the work until we can drop him off. He’s your problem.”

“Deal.” Alex got out of the car, shifting carefully to avoid dropping his burden. Said burden yawned. “I like the way you think,” he informed the pint sized fleabag as he climbed out and took off for the shop. “But let’s get something to eat first.”

Yassen smothered a sigh as he yanked the self-serve pump out of it’s cradle and jammed it into the gas tank. At least Alex had something to entertain himself with after losing his DS. He rather wished it wasn’t some flea-bitten early-stage-roadkill, but options out here were limited and perhaps beggars shouldn’t be choosers.

The gas station was small and clearly independant, given its somewhat weatherbeaten look and lack of a corporate logo. Sheltered in the shadow of a large mesa, it hovered beside a little trailer and a run down shed, though he doubted anyone actually lived on site. He decided to take that as a good sign-- the more remote the route, the less likely they were to be identified until they could hide among tourists. It was the off-season for the canyons, but so long as they stayed in the southern portion, the crowds should be steady enough for them to blend in. 

Alex was happily exiting as Yassen approached, holding a small bottle of milk with a sports top shaped like Batman and a small sheaf of papers. “The cashier was really nice,” he told Yassen, gently bouncing his whimpering bundle. “He printed me off a page he found online about taking care of abandoned dogs and mixed together an emergency puppy milk recipe.” He winced slightly. “Also, I forgot to use my American accent so you may want to pretend to be British.”

Yassen gave him an annoyed look, but didn’t complain. The last time he’d been in the area to carry out a hit, international tourists had been fairly common. It was a trail he’d have preferred not to leave if he’d had the choice, but it was hardly a strong one. The small station didn’t even seem to have a working security camera from this decade, so the threat was minimal. “Very well. I will meet you by the car in a minute.”

The man-- an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and deep lines carved into his face by the harsh desert sun-- nodded to Yassen as he entered alone. Shoved back the tip of his white, woven cowboy hat and scratched his forehead. “Sweet kid you got there,” he said, nodding out the window to where Alex was bottle feeding the mutt while leaning against the hood. “Not many who’d stop this far outta the way to pick up a stray.”

“I can’t forget,” Yassen replied, trying to keep to grumble out of his voice. He must have failed based on the wry look the man gave him. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the nearest animal shelter is?”

The man shook his head. “Just got done tellin’ the kid, but there are no shelters ‘ntil you hit Utah, ‘nless you head back towards Payson. You can call animal control over strays, but they usually prefer not to make the drive and tell you to bring it to a shelter yourself anyway. Not sure about vets, though.”

Yassen sighed. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. Paying quickly for all their purchases (the man shrugged off the cost of his “emergency puppy milk”), Yassen bundled Alex back into the car and hit the road before Alex could find another wounded something or other to add to Yassen’s growing list of responsibilities. Fortunately, Alex’s attention seemed more or less fastened to the pup, despite the fact that the little ball of fur didn’t seem to do much more than eat and sleep and wet itself (that had been a fun thing to pull over for). It wasn’t an entire loss, though: Alex had a panic attack about ten minutes out of Tusayan. Yassen had been prepared for it to last at least a quarter hour before passing, trying to remind himself that this was infinitely better than the ones Alex had been having only a few weeks previous. The little mutt had started whining and after a minute or two, Alex had snapped out of it long enough to pull out the little Batman bottle and quiet the animal. The rest of the drive had passed in tense, but amiable silence.

Approaching the motel office, Yassen dug his wallet out of his back pocket and glanced back at where Alex was waiting in the car. It might actually be a shame to see it go. Yassen suspected the animal might have something to do with Alex’s shortened panic attack, though he wasn’t exactly sure how. Weren’t animals used in certain types of therapy? Alex was a child with an apparent fondness for fluffy things. It didn’t seem impossible.

The bells hanging from the door tinkled as Yassen entered. A young woman with a thick, dark braid greeted him from the counter as she handed an obviously honeymooning couple a set of keys. “How can I help you?”

He put it out of his mind. At any rate, once they were settled in Russia, he could buy Alex an actual pet. It was impractical to even consider keeping a dog with them now. Even if they could somehow find a way to manage to car-train an animal, they couldn’t afford to be any more distinctive than they already were. “I’m going to need a room for the next week. A double.”

“Of course, sir. I have several empty right now,” she said, tapping her keyboard. “Can I see your ID?”  
Yassen passed her his false driver’s license without open hesitation. This motel had the distinct look of a mom and pop: a chain might have their records flagged and searched by the authorities. He really should get another fake, but he didn’t have many contacts in this part of America and it was risky relying on his Scorpia assets as it was. Closest one he could recall was in California. “Perhaps there is something else you can help me with. Where is the nearest veterinarian’s office? I didn’t see any on my way in.”

The woman shook her head apologetically. “I’m afraid we don’t actually have any. One of the resorts has a kennel that can give you basic pet services, but I don’t think any of their staff are actual licensed vets. There’s a mobile vet clinic that stops by once every few months for the residents, but it isn’t due back for another few weeks. Your best bet is to drive to Payson. Tucson, actually, if you need an exotic veterinarian. Is it urgent?”

Yassen sighed as he traded cash for a room key. A few more days wouldn’t make them more noticeable now that they’d already arrived. “No, not really. Thank you.”

O

Alex laughed again as the wolf onscreen let out another howl. Trouble twitched in his lap, rocking onto his front paws and tipping back his own head to answer it with a warbly little one of his own. Five days of milk cut with dog food and constant fussing by Alex had drastically improved the mutt’s health; even Yassen was forced to accept that it had made a full recovery. Gone was the shaking, whining two pounds of puppy and in its place was an energetic, clumsy-pawed monstrosity determined to live up to its name. With only the faint hint of a wobble, Trouble leapt out of Alex’s lap and onto the chevron patterned rug, bounding closer to the flat screen. 

“Don’t let him chew the cables,” Yassen warned, glancing up from his latest book. As far as Alex could guess based off the cover art, this was a dimestore cowboy Western translated into Chinese. The Russian had dug it out of some corner of the used book shop that had been counterintuitively smashed into the gift store they’d wandered into the other day when Alex had gotten bored. 

Alex shrugged. “I think he’s learned his lesson from last time.”

“He hasn’t learned a thing,” Yassen said, settling back into his read. He could insist all he wanted that it was purely to keep his linguistics sharp, but Alex got the distinct impression that Yassen was enjoying the story given how quickly he returned to it despite the many interruptions around him. “Your dog’s an idiot.”

“He’s just taking things at his own pace,” Alex said diplomatically, as Trouble made Yassen’s point for him and began mouthing the black plastic cables for what had to be the thirtieth time that morning. With a hiss, Alex shot to his feet and forcibly separated the two, earning himself Trouble’s bites in the cables’ place. “Ouch! Stop that.” Sitting back down, he grabbed the bright orange squeaky toy from atop his bed and thrust it at the little brawler. “What did I tell you about biting the hand that feeds, Trouble?”

Yassen looked up from his book a minute later. Trouble had yet to finish his battle with his inanimate foe and the squeaking was starting to grate on Alex’s nerves too. “Just take him outside already. It’s better than letting him piss in here again.”

“He’s still learning,” Alex reminded him, even as he made a face and grabbed the collar and leash set with no small amount of dread. This was a wrestling match he suspected he might lose: the dog and the collar appeared to be mortal enemies ever since they’d purchased the set from the general store down the road. Trouble’s teeth were sharper than Alex expected of a dog his age, though he’d yet to break skin. That didn’t mean his forearms didn’t have a growing collection of scratches, though. It was only marginally better than cleaning up puddles.

Yassen turned a page with a look. “You sound so certain your training has any effect. Have you ever had a pet before?”

“No. Wasn’t allowed,” Alex grumbled. He brightened. “Except, one time, in Egypt, I had a pet scorpion that I lured into a cigarette pack. Only for a few hours, though. I think it got squished when it attacked the guy trying to kill me. I didn’t have to train it or anything. It was wicked.”

“I rest my case. You’ve got no idea what you’re doing.”

“Neither do you.” Alex spotted his chance and managed to grab a handful of fur on the back of the puppy’s neck. Trouble snarled and twisted in his grasp, having been through this rodeo twice before. No less than five minutes later, arms carved full of new bites and scratches, Alex finally managed to get the snap together and stepped back. He watched Trouble’s futile attempts to try and shake free the offending strip of woven nylon around his neck. 

He took a deep breath. Now for the leash. 

Fifteen minutes later, Alex half-dragged, half-followed Trouble out of the room to the the empty stretch of land behind the motel. Orange dirt had blown into piles where scraggly silver-green desert foliage managed to put down roots. Apart from the sparse plants, the main appeal of the area was the clusters of pitted red rocks heaped into small hills here and there. It made for a natural playground so Alex and Trouble spent a good hour or two chasing lizards and climbing about before the afternoon sun began to burn the back of Alex’s neck. Wincing, he covered it with his hand and then probed along his face, feeling flares of pain under the pads of his fingers. 

“Come on, Trouble,” he sighed, gently tugging on the leash. Trouble ignored him, still pawing at a recess in the rocks in an effort to tease out his latest prey. “Let’s go get scolded.”

The door hadn’t even shut behind them before Yassen halted mid push-up, eyes narrowing as he took in Alex’s skin. “This is why you need to wear sunblock,” he said, shifting onto his feet with a seamlessness Alex envied. He grabbed said bottle off of the small table beside the door and thrust it at him. 

“Too late now.” Alex grimaced and set it back down. “What? I forgot. It’s not like I enjoy being burnt, Yassen.”

“You’ll enjoy skin cancer even less,” Yassen informed him, grabbing Alex’s chin to inspect the damage. “Melanoma--”

“I know, I know.” Alex gently smacked his hands away, hissing. “Don’t touch it. It stings.”

Yassen grimaced and plucked his coat off the hook. “Come on then. We’ll get something to eat and pick up some aloe vera on the way.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Thank you to everyone who dropped me reviews in the last few weeks. I am truly terrible at responding, but just know that I read them all and absolutely adore them. 
> 
> Kind of a short chapter tonight (I've grown a little too accustomed to spoiling y'all), but I promise next week's will be quite large. It was just too much information to smash together with tonight's chapter. Don't get me wrong-- I absolutely get some fiendish delight from putting our favorite characters through some crazy shit and watching my readers lose theirs. On the other hand, no need to overwhelm you guys. 
> 
> At least until next week. ^^

O

Peggy Sue’s Diner had become their usual haunt over the last week. While Yassen had found time to lecture him every now and again about the dangers of being predictable, the fact remained that town didn’t have that many options. Anyone looking for them wouldn’t need to guess at their habits when there were only half a dozen or so places to obtain food anyway. Still working on his random-restaurant selection process, Alex was grateful for the routine of it. The food was fine but this early in the season the cafe was never more than half full. Besides, their usual waitress, a brunette in her early thirties, always brought Trouble a plate of leftover sausage and was generally understanding of his capacity to make a mess with it. According to Mina, her three year old daughter was about as destructive. 

Also, and this was admittedly a large factor for Alex, their strawberry shakes were excellent.

Mina glanced up from the front counter as they entered. “Usual booth?” she asked them, plucking two laminated menus from the basket without actually waiting for an answer. Within about two minutes, they were settled in their corner booth (not particularly visible from the entrance, with a good view of the entire restaurant for Yassen’s peace of mind) with glasses of ice water dropped onto the table in front of them while they awaited their food. 

Alex sipped his water slowly, rubbing the aloe vera across his face with a grimace. “The one day I forget…” he grumbled. 

Yassen didn’t offer so much as an ounce of sympathy. “This is a desert, Alex. You think you could remember at least once.”

Alex rolled his eyes, peeling off the corner of his straw wrapper, rendering the rest of it a semi-effective blow-dart which he shot at the man. Yassen snatched it out of the air and crumpled the projectile before it could hit its intended target of his nose. Alex waited patiently as Mina bustled up to their table with their drinks, cheerfully set a small bowl of water on the floor for Trouble, and promised their food would be done soon. As soon as she was out of earshot, he glanced back at Yassen. “She likes you, you know. You should flirt back one of these days.”

Yassen raised an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?”

Alex shrugged. “She’s nice. She likes you. You’re retired, aren’t you?”

“And you see that as some sort of invitation to meddle in my love life?” Yassen glanced out the window.

“Do you even have one?” Alex found a small vein of strawberry jam in his shake and gleefully mined it for all it was worth. “Almost every waitress we’ve had under the age of fifty has tried to hit on you. Some of the men, too. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re oblivious, oddly specific, or just not interested.”

“We’re on the run, Alex. Now is hardly the time.”

Alex hummed and winced as Trouble began trying to get his jaw around his ankle. Tugging out his squeaky toy from his pocket, he unsuccessfully tried to distract the pup with it until he eventually relented and pulled him onto the seat with him to explore all the new smells. A curious nose tried to reach the table, which Alex gently shooed back onto the seat. “How long are we staying here?”

Yassen shrugged. “I was thinking a few more days. While Las Vegas was the obvious destination due to our route through Kingman, the fact that we have yet to arrive might suggest we were on our way to California or Mexico instead. The longer we wait, the more expensive it becomes to actively look for us.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Justice has little to do with law enforcement, Alex. I’ve seen more arrests determined by budgetary constraints than crimes committed,” Yassen told him, leaning over to glare under the table at the pup trying to eviscerate his shoe laces. “Time equals money. We have plenty of both and the authorities do not.”

Alex shrugged and scratched behind Trouble’s ears as their food arrived. “Sounds good to me.”

They ate in companionable silence, apart from Trouble’s yips and pleas for the almost certainly more interesting dishes on the table. Unsatisfied with his little bowl of sausage, Trouble pawed and barked at Alex’s arms until eventually the teen broke down. Offering him small pieces of his largely untouched garden burger (Yassen was really pushing vegetables this week) and fries, Alex let Trouble nibble to his heart's content until he ultimately decided that he was uninterested in such disappointing rabbit food and settled down to nap.

Yassen speared a floret of sauteed broccoli and glanced out the window. “I’d say we have time to squeeze in a short hike, but with your apparent disregard for basic sun--”

Alex slammed both palms on the table, rattling their silverware with enough force that two nearby tables looked up. Trouble twisted and growled. Even Yassen gave him a considering look that told Alex he’d braced himself for a mood swing. 

Alex practically threw the leash at Yassen and managed to utter, “I’m going to be sick.” He ran for the men’s room, making it just in time to regurgitate everything he’d eaten into the toilet.

How delightful.

He sighed a few minutes later, pressing a wet paper towel to his face as his heart rate returned to normal. Checking himself in the mirror, he confirmed that he looked otherwise uninteresting to a casual passerby before returning to their table. 

Yassen clenched the leash in his fist, watching the puppy skitter across the tile. Trouble was clearly furious with the limitations imposed on him as he sought to dart in a new direction every other second. The Russian studied Alex carefully as he sat. “Everything alright?”

Alex shrugged and picked at his fries. It wasn’t as though he particularly enjoyed vomiting, either with an audience or without. Nausea was nothing new and he knew he’d be starving in a few moments. The taste of bile hadn’t quite left him, though he found himself craving gummy bears. He satisfied himself with a sip of shake instead. “Nothing more exciting than usual.”

Yassen thrust the leash at him. “I’m glad I didn’t ruin my appetite then.”

Alex chuckled, biting into a fry as he accepted it with his free hand. “Oh, but I know how much you love these little details. Instead of this morning’s chunky slurry of pepto bismol pink and sweet potato orange--” Alex took a split second to savor Yassen’s irritated look. “--today’s little tour of the interior of my stomach looked like coffee grounds mixed with strawberry icing.” He dipped another fry in ketchup and popped it into his mouth. “I didn’t even have coffee today.”

Yassen’s gaze sharpened. “Coffee grounds? Explain.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “What? Now you want all the gory details? I thought you didn’t want to spoil your appetite. I promise my vomit isn’t that interesting.”

Yassen dropped his fork and pushed his plate away. Took a sharp inhale through his nose. “Has it looked like that before?”

Alex shrugged. “Maybe once or twice. I don’t exactly take a good long look, if you know what I mean. Why are you so interested?”

Yassen ignored the question. “And you don’t feel any different?”

“No.” A small sinking feeling erupted in his stomach, though he was certain that had more to do with Yassen’s avoiding a direct answer. “Why?”

“It might be nothing. Finish your food.” Yassen glanced around, clearly looking for Mina. She waved to him from the register, having conveniently been looking in their direction at the time (Alex was tempted to snort). He stood and after a quick hushed conversation with her, paid for their food, and returned to Alex. “If you’re done, we should leave now.”

Alex stared down at his plate before shoving it away and giving Yassen a hard look. Folded his arms. “Not until you tell me what’s changed.”

Yassen sighed. “It could be nothing. I don’t want to worry you if it’s nothing.”

“You’re worrying me now. Just tell me.”

“Fine.” Yassen waved him to the door, waiting until Alex had gathered Trouble into his arms and exited the diner. It didn’t take much to gather that Yassen had set a quick pace back to the motel, which was only about five minutes away by foot. Still, he hesitated. “Vomiting blood isn’t really like the way it’s shown in horror movies. It’s not always liquid and not always red. If it’s been in your stomach awhile, it looks like--”

“Coffee grounds,” Alex finished for him. He scowled down at his stomach. “Damn it. Mine was reddish, but I thought that was the jam. What is it this time?”

“It could be nothing,” Yassen reminded him as they reached the motel parking lot. He nodded to the room. “Grab your things just in case.”

“Where are we going?”

“Mina said there’s a small general practice run by a family doctor in town.” Yassen swiftly unlocked their door and began shoving their things into their bags. Alex did likewise, trying to channel his nervous energy into something more productive. “We should be ready to go in case.”

Alex bit his lip, movements slowing. “You mean if its too serious for a small town doctor.” 

“It might not be.” 

“What if it is?” Alex looked down at his bag. “If the CIA and MI6 are looking for us, won’t they notice my false name popping up in the system of a major hospital? They’d be on us in minutes. I only have the passport we used on the cruise ship. There’s no way a hospital or a clinic will release me without getting a name at minimum and if I need surgery there’s going to be a load of forms to sign.”

Yassen finished with his things and started on Alex’s before steering him to the door. “I’ll handle it.”

“How?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

Alex grabbed his arm, halting Yassen in front of their car. “But what if you can’t?”

“Then we get caught,” Yassen snapped. Seeing Alex’s eyes widen, he smoothed his voice out. “Going back to prison is better than dying, little Alex. Escaping custody again is always an option. As I said, let me worry about that later. Focus on one problem at a time.”

Reluctantly nodding, Alex released his arm and followed Yassen to the car. Tried to will his heart to stop racing. Failed.

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! As promised, a doozy of a chapter, one that hopefully explains quite a bit. Feel free to have a conniption in the comment section-- it fills my cruel, writerly soul with glee. :)

Mrs. Jones exhaled slowly and smoothly. Anyone watching her might have thought that she was simply clearing her mind between tasks or perhaps a little tired after a long day’s work. The second option might be closer to the truth; the evening wore on and her day staff had long since gone home. Their director still sat at her minimalist, glass desk, sparsely decorated with the odd zen tree and a facedown picture frame. Going home never crossed her mind.

No, there was far too much to do and far more weighing on her mind. 

Plucking another peppermint from the small tray on her desk, Mrs. Jones quickly closed a series of emails between herself and one of her top recruitment officers. No luck: twelve year old Maisie Williams had washed out of candidacy, scoring unfortunately high on her emotional malleability index while achieving their top standards on nearly every physical requirement MI6 could expect of a child. Their runner up, Camden Todd, age 13, had seemed equally promising. An acrobatic skill-set combined with his quick thinking meant that he could likely function in the field, yet a second physical examination had turned up an unexpected heart defect; the boy would now be able to get early surgical intervention and enjoy a longer life for it, but unfortunately was no longer eligible for the mission at hand.

It had been risky to arrange evaluations for an entire series of public schools for potential child agent candidates. While the administrators themselves could be convinced that it was simply a series of studies conducted on behalf of the education ministry, it was harder to convince those who knew which agency the request actually originated from. Why was MI6 evaluating school children? After the ‘invisible sword’ threat months earlier via Rothman, it only took a bit of selling to persuade her superiors that this was merely a preventative measure to ensure no further complications had or could evolve out of the remaining dormant nanobots. Despite this, Tulip knew that several of her political enemies had their suspicions-- especially given the rumored age of their most successful agent to date.

Tulip sighed aloud this time. Back to plan one, then. 

At least she had managed to shuffle Alex out of the spotlight in time for his breakdown. While Blunt had begun the process of removing all public records of the underage spy, Jones had more or less managed to eradicate all references to him entirely. The fewer people who could connect the child back to MI6, the better. The Horseman file had served as a warning that she refused to ignore. Even so, there was still a chance that Alex could be recognized in the field. She was already on thin enough ice as it were.

Mrs. Jones stared impassively at the photo of Alex Rider on her screen. It was an unflattering shot for several reasons. First, the angle and resolution of the black and white image was poor, making his facial features mere specks against the gray of his skin. Second, his health complications had resulted in noticeable weight loss, leaving him even more fine boned than genetics intended. Perhaps she could still work with that; it did seem to make him seem smaller, if unhealthy. Third, and more concerning, was the stolen opioids clutched to his chest as he fled a chemist’s car park.

Time was running out.

The boy was deteriorating rapidly, both mentally and physically. Only his history of implausible success gave her any reason to hope he could still pull this off. Unfortunately, those odds worsened with every day that passed. If there was any way to avoid using him, she would have very much preferred it. 

It couldn’t be helped. There was simply no other child like him. 

A flicker of regret wormed its way through her, but she quickly buried it. Yes, it was unfortunate to put any child in such a position, even one who had been trained his whole life for the job. Yes, it was even more unfortunate that his health was in decline and his home situation was depressing, if otherwise convenient. She grimaced, half at the taste of her candy and half at herself. Much about the boy’s situation was deplorable, including her own hand in crafting it to her benefit, but that was irrelevant now. The most important thing was that there was no one else for this mission; Alex’s life was simply a series of child-sized tragedies that would hopefully result in a resounding amount of good for many, many other people. 

Some days she still hated Alan Blunt. Most, she tried not to think of him at all.

Since the failed recovery in Kingman a week ago, there had been no word of either Alex’s or Gregorovich’s location. There was no doubt in her mind that they were still together: Alex was good, but he didn’t have enough training to avoid detection this long without help. It wasn’t rocket science to reach the obvious conclusion: either Alex was dead or still traveling with the assassin who’d murdered his uncle. 

Mrs. Jones only just kept herself from glaring at the screen. 

As ridiculous as it sounded that Alex would go anywhere with that man, she also understood that the circumstances that she herself created had driven him to it. Between the hallucinations, mental health problems, the semi-recent death of Starbright, the debacle at the school culminating in the painful end of his only remaining friendship, and his involuntary committal to an institution, it wasn’t exactly implausible that his feelings regarding the contract killer were the least of his problems.

Perhaps she should have gotten between them sooner. It had been a mistake of ignorance placing them in the same facility at first: no one save Alan Blunt and one high-ranking administrative aide knew precisely where Gregorovich had been incarcerated; the CIA had contributed no less than twelve personnel to various MI6 sites, without knowing exactly where the man was either but reassured that access would be swift as needed. Absolute anonymity was the only way they could ensure the man survived long enough to be interrogated after the first few failed rounds following his life saving surgery. She hadn’t questioned it at the time: it was for her own protection that she not be included beyond the initial attempts to extract information from the man. The transition between heads hadn’t quite gone smoothly-- it seemed her old boss had dozens of activities running off the record that he hadn’t seen fit to apprise her of. While not remotely unexpected (most heads of MI6 had skeleton-packed closets by the time they left the position), it left her scrambling to determine what they were and whether she wanted to inherit them. 

Alex had already been in Gibraltar for weeks when the name “Yasha” had popped up in his care notes. 

Naturally, she had looked into it. Alex’s physical safety was paramount among her concerns, even if his mental health would likely be unsalvageable. The prison facility was designed to operate in total isolation, so she had no direct feed to their footage or employees. Imagine if someone like Smithers had gotten access to that! Instead, written reports came through a private account registered to another real prison existing legally within their borders. Weeks had already passed by the time she realized the error-- it was unlikely Alex and Yassen had avoided contact, yet there were no incident reports of violence between them. Her instincts still screamed at her to separate them, but practical needs won out: there was nowhere equally secure to contain either of them. Even if there were, the amount of work that would have to go into a completely anonymous transfer would be astronomical.

Convincing herself that it was fine had been easier than it should have been. She had only just begun her large-scale primary school examinations. Her enemies circled like vultures, waiting for any mistake. She had so many other things to worry about. Alex was safe. Gregorovich’s reach in prison was limited, even if he did wish the boy ill. Chances were good that he didn’t. It was simply a problem to examine another day should it come up again.

She’d left them to their own devices, at least until one of their snitches had indicated Scorpia was gearing up to take Gregorovich back at the same time Alex’s therapist seemed to take an elevated interest in him. The latter had probably been the CIA keeping tabs on the boy or maybe the woman had suffered from run of the mill outrage at the boy’s treatment, so Jones had made the judgement call to remove the position of therapist entirely. It was far better than risking a potential leak. With the interest in Gregorovich’s blood running high, the Americans agreed to the termination of their various staff members so long as they received a pint for themselves. Easy enough. Containment had been priority one. Once she realized that their relationship had deepened enough for Gregorovich to flip on Scorpia to save it, it was already too late. Her political enemies were snapping at her feet and she needed a large-scale success to divert her superior’s attention long enough to approve Maisie or Camden. Eliminating Scorpia entirely with the help of a top assassin’s testimony would fit that bill exactly.

Mrs. Jones grimaced. That had worked out spectacularly.

At any rate, both of them would need to be apprehended. If Alex had become even remotely attached to the contract killer, he would be essential to his continued performance. Alex had always been easier to compel when it wasn’t just his own neck on the line. Gregorovich’s blood would be a boon on top of any leverage he offered on Alex. While Tulip didn’t remotely care what antibodies were swimming around in the Russian man’s bloodstream, the odd pint or two could be a powerful bargaining chip. 

Maybe he’d flip on Scorpia again, maybe he wouldn’t. MI6 hardly needed his cooperation to recoup their losses after the escape.

Mrs. Jones straightened in her seat and rolled out her shoulders. It really was getting late, but she didn’t even entertain the idea of heading home. She had so much to do and nowhere near the amount of time to do it. Perhaps a cot be installed discreetly somewhere in here.

Despite her best efforts, Operation Lightbringer had ground to a halt. 

Nightshade had proven impossible to infiltrate via traditional methods. Adult trainers, handlers, and executives were certainly part of the organization, but had limited movement between facilities. Only the child operatives moved with regularity, mostly to ensure that they were in the right region to appeal to the right buyers at any given time. MI6’s recent agents to attempt infiltration had both lost contact; she wasn’t optimistic about finding their bodies. Their only real inroad into the organization-- their sole source of usable intel-- was a recruiter they’d picked up shortly after their pint sized assassin. 

Dealing with Frederick Gray had been a nightmare of its own. Not only was he almost impossible to contain given his high level of training and lack of self-concern, when she’d tried to ship him off to the Gibraltar prison, they realized they couldn’t afford to house him with another Nightshade employee even if they didn’t know each other. The odds that he’d look for instruction from the man were low, given that Ivan’s standing in the organization wasn’t particularly high ranking in the first place-- he was simply responsible for selecting children and “procuring” them. The visual reminder of where his loyalties lay, however, was a massive problem: psychiatric evaluation suggested it would effectively destroy the already slim odds that the boy would ever talk. Thus, another isolation facility had to be formed in a nearby military base to contain the high-risk escapee while Ivan was left in place, as he posed minimal risk to the other prisoners anyway. 

Adults were weaker than children in some ways. It took maybe a month of incarceration before Ivan was willing to talk. According to him, the absolute upper edge Nightshade was willing to consider taking a new operative for training was fourteen. 

Mrs. Jones bit down on the peppermint with almost enough force to fracture a tooth. 

If Alex didn’t get back on his injections soon, their window would close. It was a risk continuing them at all, but it was always a risk when it came to Alex. Nightshade’s rigorous mental conditioning was a real threat to whomever was sent in. Mrs. Jones couldn’t quite muster the confidence necessary to put in any other child but one tried and tested. Alex was stubborn to the core, on top of having gotten some resistance to interrogation training with the SAS; he’d even been waterboarded by the Americans before with decent results. An unfortunate accident, but at least it had been useful.

As inconvenient as it was that Alex suffered so strongly from the schizoid side effects of A216, there was simply no getting around it’s necessity: he was their only remotely realistic agent and his calendar age was already too old. He simply couldn’t be allowed to age a day further. 

As for his judgement while on said medication…. 

Mrs. Jones considered pulling up the many, many hours of surveillance footage she’d had carefully exported of his time in prison. She’d already watched it many times, wasting minutes she couldn’t afford to spare struggling to understand just what had happened and if there was any hope left to be had. With a sigh, she dismissed the urge. Just because Alex hadn’t successfully overcome the hallucinations in prison didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t. Perhaps he simply lacked the motivation: Alex had performed well under incentive before.

A knock sounded at her door.

Mrs. Jones clicked the photo closed and glanced up. “Come in.”

Ben Daniels poked his head in. “Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Jones. Is Danica…?”

“I sent her home for the evening. I prefer to work undisturbed.” She stared unblinkingly at him.

The new-ish agent’s face remained perfectly smooth. “Actually, I’m glad I caught you. You’re rather hard to get a moment with these days.”

“That’s by design.” She sat back in her chair and gestured to the one in front of her. The man had been invasively searching for anything on Alex ever since the boy had broken out of prison. Initially, she decided against putting him on the task force: he was likely attached and may take issue with what he found regarding Alex’s past. One Smithers was enough. 

Daniels could be problematic if not managed properly. 

“Sit down, Agent Daniels. I hear you’ve been sticking your nose into other agents’ case files. Again. While we value inquisitiveness in this field, you might find that is not the case in regards to highly classified information.”

Agent Daniels quirked a small smile, undeterred when she did not return it. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. “I understand that, ma’am. I do hope I haven’t caused too much trouble for our technologies department.”

“What is it you’re looking for exactly?” she asked. 

“Alex, of course.” Daniels studied her back and sighed. “I’ll admit it. I’m fond of the kid. I owe him my life. I’ll sleep better when I know he’s safe and sound and receiving proper treatment.” He shifted in his seat. “We were so close in Kingman. I saw him. Called out to him. He didn’t sound well.”

“I see.” Mrs. Jones slightly crossed her arms atop her desk. “How does finding Alex relate to your many, many attempts to access Mr. Smithers files?”

“That’s just what I came to speak with you about. I was hoping to consult directly with Smithers about how best to appeal to Alex again to turn himself in. He knew Alex best, apart from you and I. It was obvious in Kingman that Alex isn’t in his right mind, but I can’t help but feel like he’s operating on some kind of logic. If only I could tap into it.” Agent Daniels nodded to her desk. “Naturally, the head isn’t available to answer every little question I have and I’m sure I’ll only come up with more. Has Smithers returned from holiday yet?”

“I’m afraid he’s called out for personal reasons. I’ve no specific date for his return, unfortunately.”

Daniels gave a sympathetic nod. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she detected a flash of suspicion. “Well, I’ll just have to make do with whatever notes I can find. He’s notoriously thorough, according to his assistants. Are there any leads I can help with while I’m here?”

“Nothing since Kingman.” Mrs. Jones glanced at her screen again.

“And the CIA didn’t find anything interesting among the evidence from the motel room?”

“Nothing beyond basic proof that it was theirs. DNA and fingerprints confirmed. Their luggage was incredibly unrevealing. Gregorovich knows how to hide his tracks well. Were you expecting otherwise?”

Daniels sighed. “Based on the call we shared with Alex, the idea that Gregorovich has been plying him with drugs is my main concern. He’s obviously filling his head with all sorts of wild ideas, but I don’t think we really understand their relationship. I wish we had a better picture of what’s going on between them. I suspect it’s key to reaching Alex.”

“As do I. Be sure to report directly to me if you find anything.” She resumed typing. “You’re dismissed.”

It was clear that Daniels’ pushing had personal motivations. He’d admitted it upfront, after all, and she had no reason to doubt him. Tulip got the sense that despite his glossing over Alex’s ‘wild ideas’ that the man wasn’t stupid enough to neglect considering them either. 

There would be no more information exchanged. 

“Of course, ma’am. Have a good night.” Daniels showed himself out.

Mrs. Jones watched him go out of the corner of her eye. The SAS team’s reports had been elucidating-- Alex not only knew where he was and who he was with, but he had some knowledge of A216. 

There was no proof, but she suspected Smithers’ involvement. Footage showed that Alex had retained his iPod in prison. The gadget man had a worrying habit of listing Alex’s devices as ‘returned’ or ‘accounted for’ in his paperwork without actually bothering to retrieve them. It was possible he’d been the one to leak the information to Alex about his injections through the device. Smithers was certainly clever enough; what little her security analysts could trace of the last few weeks of the man’s employment indicated his focus had been entirely on Alex. His apartment had told her the rest: bags packed, cat rehomed, and plants set to self-watering timers hooked up to a reserve equipped for six months. It was clear that the man had been planning his flight for some time.

Outright betrayal of MI6 to its competitors and enemies was unlikely, in her opinion. The man wasn’t driven by money, though MI6 went out of its way to compensate him well for his work to ensure his loyalty and enthusiasm remained undimmed. Genius came paired with flighty personalities more often than not: golden handcuffs worked best. No, at his heart, Smithers was a bit of a dreamer-- one had to be to retain such an inventive spirit. His reluctance over Alex’s involvement spanned as far back as the boy’s first mission and had clearly reached some sort of tipping point.

She’d once thought of him as an ally against Blunt’s abuse. Now he was a dangerous liability. 

Whatever information he managed to abscond with could potentially compromise everything, but most importantly, could destroy any hope she had of taking down Nightshade. Whatever it took. Alex just had to last long enough to complete Operation Lightbringer. After that, she didn’t care what became of everything else: let them slap his face on the news, let them drag her out of the Royal & General in cuffs. It wouldn’t matter.

If destroying Nightshade was all she accomplished, it would be worth any cost.

Daniels poking around with more than a passing amount of curiosity was a problem. Before he’d been an annoyance, but an acceptable one: attachment had been encouraged subtly between the two. It was one of the reasons they’d accepted the SAS soldier into the spy agency the first place. Blunt intended to pair him with Alex on future missions, hoping to replace Alex’s relationship with his ever-absent uncle with another; one that could one day be used to transition the young spy into service. Starbright had been necessary on a day-to-day basis, but their relationship had ultimately contributed to Alex’s reluctance to involve himself. If things with Daniels had gone well, they’d planned on driving the woman away altogether. 

Hardly necessary now.

Jones had seen the merit of it when she assumed the office, but hadn’t fully accounted for what keeping Daniels around would mean. Perhaps they should have tried to make his role clear to him at the onset, but both she and Blunt had believed Alex wouldn’t bond with him if he detected so much as a hint of insincerity. The boy was shrewd in his own way. Jones still hoped that Daniels might ultimately play that role-- just because Gregorovich had filled the uncle-sized hole in Alex’s psyche didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t replace him down the road-- but for now she had to ensure that the agent didn’t create more problems than he was worth. Daniels could be controlled if care was put into his onboarding, but there was no telling how he would react if he understood the extent of Alex’s time in MI6 too soon, things that Alex himself wasn’t aware of. He already knew more than she would have preferred. 

Alone, he wasn’t a threat, but if Daniels and Smithers were to get in contact with each other….

What a mess.

There was still room for reassurance in the reports, however: Alex’s health was good enough to evade capture. If he could just hold out for another few weeks, they still had a chance to evaluate him and send him into the field. It could still be done, she just needed the will to do it.

She still hesitated briefly, hand hovering over the phone. Shut her eyes. Took a deep breath. 

It got easier over time. She wasn’t convinced that was a bad thing these days.

Crowley picked up on the second ring. “Ma’am?”

“Terminate Smithers. Consider it a priority.” She practically dropped the phone back into its cradle. 

It would be worth it, she insisted to herself. Tears pricked at her eyes. It had to be.

  
  



	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Back to our favorite characters. :D Another long-ish chapter. Due to it's size, I've gone ahead and decided to just stick with Yassen's POV for now. As always, your shrieks of rage and delight fuel the flames of my soul. See you next week!

The small clinic closed just as they arrived, mere minutes after five. A young woman in a white sedan pulled out of the lot as they pulled in, leaving it empty save for one other car. Quietly situated on the edge of town, the squat terracotta building boasted a small fountain loaded with pine needles and slightly dirty water; pleasant for a small town general practice.  **Anna Tapija, M.D.** had been stenciled in sterm black letters across the glass doors leading into the small reception area, which a short, heavyset woman with close cropped salt and pepper hair was currently locking up.

Yassen threw the car into park, one hand braced against the door handle as he spotted the small domed security camera through the glass. He paused. “Alex? Intercept the surveillance camera signal and replace it with white noise. Stay in the car.”

The boy hesitated, one hand over the pocket containing his iPod. “But--”

Yassen gave him a hard look. There wasn’t time for this to turn into a debate. “I told you I’d handle it. Do you trust me?”

“Promise me you won’t kill her,” Alex said, eyes intense. 

“Alex--”

“ _ Promise me _ .”

“Fine. Just get it done.” Yassen shoved open his door and jogged to intercept the woman. “Dr. Tapija?”

“We’re closed for the evening,” she said without turning around. “If it’s an emergency, the visitor’s center in the South Rim can sort you out.”

He’d already discounted the idea on the way. It was a good deal farther than this clinic, probably had better security, and was likely more heavily staffed. All they needed now were more people who could identify them. In Alex’s current state, Yassen fully expected to have Child Protection Services called five minutes into an exam. The fewer employees present, the easier it would be for Yassen to keep the situation under control until a diagnosis could be reached.

Yassen shook his head and pulled out his wallet, freeing a handful of green bills. The sight of ready cash tended to inspire a helpful attitude in even the most tired professional.  “Please. My kid’s vomiting blood. I know it’s after hours, but--”

The woman actually turned to face him, glancing at his money with zero interest. “Absolutely not. This is a general practice. Unless your kid is an alcoholic, bloody vomit is not something I’m prepared to treat. Even if I weren’t closed, I’d still send you to a hospital.” She glanced at Alex, visibly tense in the passenger seat, and sighed. Pulling out her cell phone from her enormous leather purse, she said, “Look, I can call you an ambulance and notify the nearest hospital that you’re on your way. They’ll move your boy to the front of the line. What’s your name?”

With a flick of his wrist Yassen’s wallet was back in his jacket pocket and the good doctor’s phone in his hand. He hurled it into the bushes, registering her expression of shock evolve into fear as she spotted the handgun he now aimed at her stomach. 

“What are you--?” she stammered. 

“I’m afraid you’ll be working late tonight, doctor.” Yassen gestured Alex forward with his free hand. After a long, nervous pause, he heard the car door open and Trouble’s excited yips erupt before they cut off as it shut a split second later. “I assure you, there’s no need for this to go poorly. You’ll examine the boy and determine what’s wrong with him, then we’ll leave. It’s as simple as that.”

Dr. Tapija cleared her throat, eyes not quite daring to leave the gun. “I don’t have much equipment here. If he’s got anything complicated, you’re better off at a hospital.”

Yassen gestured to the door with the gun, a touch impatient as Alex came to hover anxiously at his shoulder. “Then determine whether or not it is complicated. Hurry up.”

To her credit, her hands didn’t shake as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, leading the way into the dark reception area. Framed certificates and awards lined the walls, interspersed with bland abstract art. Alex reached for a light switch but Yassen shook his head. It would be better for them if the clinic seemed closed from the road. A hallway led to the first exam room, which Yassen quickly assessed the second he entered. 

A small desk had been built into the simple cabinetry, atop which a computer monitor and keyboard had been connected to the wall. Yassen didn’t bother messing with the modem or router as he strode forward to slice the phone cable connected to the landline. She might very well have to do some research online to properly diagnose Alex; Yassen would simply have to monitor her to ensure she didn’t send any messages or alert the authorities.

Alex stared between them, gesturing to the exam table. “Shall I, um--?” At Dr. Tapija’s wordless nod, he hopped onto the seat, wincing slightly as the crunching paper rattled his nerves. Yassen tried not to sigh openly. The boy would just have to deal with it for now.

“So you’re vomiting blood?” the doctor asked quietly, reaching gingerly for a pad of paper and a pen from beside the computer. “Are there any other symptoms you’re experiencing?”

“Oh. Well…” Alex glanced uncertainly at Yassen, who nodded heavily. Holding back now would do them no favors. They didn’t have to give her their life stories, but without a complete picture of Alex’s health history, they risked an incorrect diagnosis. Everything had to be presented: the hallucinations, the drug abuse, the hormone blockers, all of it. “There’s actually a lot going on with my health right now. Let me give you the shortened version….”

Fifteen minutes of frantic scribbling later, the doctor set down her pen and rubbed her eyes heavily. She’d only occasionally interrupted to ask a clarifying question or to inquire about additional risk factors, many of which Yassen offered when Alex couldn’t remember. “I see. I’m afraid this is going to make my job quite difficult. There’s a lot of potential causes and complications here, so this is what I’m going to do. First, I’m going to do a complete physical exam to ensure I’ve got all of your symptoms accounted for. Second, I’m going to give you an endoscopy. Have you had one before?”

Alex shook his head. 

“Essentially, I’m going to stick a very flexible and very long camera down your throat to see where the source of the bleeding is. I’ll give you a mild sedative, but you’ll remain awake for the entire procedure.” She sighed. “You’re lucky so many locals have drinking problems this close to the reservation. Most primary care physicians don’t specialize in this, you know.”

“And then?” Yassen asked.

“And then I’ll run what tests I can in order to give you as specific a diagnosis as possible. That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.” She pursed her lips, eyeing the gun that now sat relaxed against Yassen’s side.

Yassen hesitated. “The vomiting blood. Do you think it’s serious?”

“I would need to perform the upper endoscopy to be certain, but I think it’s likely Mallory-weiss syndrome and should resolve itself.” She turned back to Alex as she grabbed a pair of blue exam gloves from a box mounted to the wall by the door and tugged them on. “That’s a small tear in the throat or stomach wall from excessive vomiting and acid production. It pops up a lot in alcoholics and bulimics. Then again, with all your other health issues, it may be something else.” 

“Such as?”

“Ulcers. I’d have to take a look to be sure.” Grabbing the blood pressure cuff off of the wall, she waved a hand at his arm and said, “Let’s get started.”

Yassen remained relaxed while the doctor moved through the familiar rounds of a physical examination. He’d sat through dozens of these with Alex in prison and Dr. Tapija didn’t attempt to diverge from the familiar script. She checked his blood pressure, listened to his heart, checked his eyes, throat, ears, and nose, before taking his height and weight into account. The sheer routine of it seemed to calm Alex and some of the color gradually returned to his face.

She checked the readout of her forehead thermometer. “Are you always this cold?”

Alex shrugged and wrapped his arms around himself. “Lately. Why?”

“You’re running just a degree and a half under what I’d expect.” She wiped the surface of the thermometer down and set it aside. She grabbed a small plastic paddle and pointed to the eye chart mounted across the wall, covering one of Alex’s eyes. “Read me the top row.”

Alex patiently rattled off letters upon request, before adding, “I’ve done this before, you know. I’ve got 20\20 vision.”

Dr. Tapija hesitated. “Just about. Alright, it’s time to look at the interior of your stomach.” She turned to look at Yassen a touch nervously as she pulled off her gloves. “I’ll have to give him a mild sedative and get the equipment from the other room.”

Yassen nodded to her and gestured to the open door with his gun. She furtively took a few steps forward with him trailing at a comfortable distance. Directly across the hall was a small lab that doubled as a medical supply room. Yassen watched her carefully gather up a cart of blood draws, injections, miscellaneous equipment, and a long black endoscope while he busied himself with cutting the cable of the second landline phone. 

Hovering in the doorway, Alex supervised them both, nibbling on his nails the whole time. “What did you mean just about?”

Yassen stiffened. He’d wondered the same but had assumed it wasn’t as important. 

Dr. Tapija shut the drawer she was rooting around in and rolled the cart towards the door. “Your vision is closer to 20/25, not 20/20.”

Alex’s brows furrowed. “Is that better?”

“A little worse, actually.” She paused. “It’s common to develop vision problems in your early teens. You may need glasses a year or so down the line. Are you ready for your sedative?”

Returning to the exam room to sit on the table a second time, Alex stuck his arm out, wincing as the needle slid in. “I hope this doesn’t knock me out.”

“It should only make you drowsy. There shouldn’t be any complications with the xanax or oxycontin already in your bloodstream either. I’ve accounted for them. Open wide,” she said, holding up a small spray bottle. Giving Alex’s throat a quick spritz, she added, “That’s to keep you from gagging on the camera. Go ahead and lie on your side. Try to relax.”

Yassen came up behind her as she readied the equipment. He didn’t expect her to try anything if she hadn’t already-- he’d been very careful to threaten violence without actually demonstrating it, and just enough to ensure compliance without upsetting Alex. Unless he was forced to use any, her best interests were to cooperate. She had every reason to avoid harming Alex. Hovering over her shoulder was probably a bad idea, but he couldn’t help it. Even if he couldn’t understand whatever popped up on the little camera he wanted to see. 

Dr. Tapija stiffened, but continued sanitizing the scope without pause. 

Despite the spray, Alex had trouble swallowing around the tube as it eased down his throat, wincing. Yassen watched the screen with rapt attention as the doctor made a displeased sound. 

“What?” he demanded, looking back at it. As far as he could tell, there was no blood lining the boy’s throat.

“There’s a lot of scoring and swelling here,” she said, glancing down at Alex. “Regular vomiting will do that to you. I bet swallowing has been quite uncomfortable for some time. You’ve probably been sticking to soft foods, haven’t you?”

Alex made a sound that could have been something like agreement. 

Yassen internally kicked himself. Alex’s preference for gummy candies and milkshakes made a lot more sense. Gelatin and ice cream-- the staples of sore throat soothing. The boy might have liked sweets in prison, but he’d eaten more nutritionally dense food the majority of the time. Then again, the vomiting had only been going on for a few weeks by that point. Yassen wasn’t sure he could remember when Alex had transitioned to only wanting his two safe foods. Why hadn’t the boy said anything? Why hadn’t Yassen noticed? Now it seemed like an obvious symptom to miss rather than a quirk of appetite. 

A weight settled in his stomach. What else had he simply failed to piece together?

The probe finally reached the junction of his stomach. Yassen couldn’t help but wince. Long, dark tears had been carved into the pale flesh of the walls, illuminated by the harsh artificial light of the scope. 

“There we go,” the doctor said aloud, likely for the boy’s benefit. “Just as I thought. You’ve got some Mallory Weiss tearing, but no active bleeding, which is good. The body can usually resolve that on its own so long as it's not too severe. From your description of the vomit, I don’t think you lost enough blood to warrant a transfusion. I’m not seeing anything that points to long term damage or a proper ulcer. Let’s get this thing out of you, okay?”

Yassen leaned against the doorframe, willing himself to relax as he watched the doctor remove the probe from Alex’s throat. It wasn’t serious. Alex’s vomiting was simply more problematic than Yassen had simply anticipated. It seemed like a straightforward thing to correct. “What does this mean in terms of treatment going forward?”

“Depends.” She gestured to her cart. “I need to draw some blood to confirm he hasn’t been bleeding sporadically before this and to determine his level of malnutrition.”

Alex coughed and cleared his throat, now free of the invasive equipment and sitting upright of the exam table. 

“Would you like some water?” Dr. Tapija asked him. “You might be sore for a few hours.”

Alex didn’t respond, just stared glassily forward as though lost in thought. 

“Kid?” Dr. Trapija snapped her fingers by his face. No so much as a twitch. She repeated the motion. “Kiddo? Are you with me?”

His blank expression didn’t change in the slightest, regardless of the stimuli. It was a strange, but not altogether unfamiliar look on the boy. He tended to space out in the car sometimes. Given how much there was to weight on his mind, Yassen had simply gotten in the habit of repeating himself in favor of leaving the boy to his thoughts. Hadn’t questioned it.

“He has panic attacks sometimes,” Yassen said, stomach sinking.

She shook her head and adjusted her watch before snapping her fingers with every second that passed. Counting. “This isn’t a panic attack. This is a seizure.”

Eight more snaps passed before Alex snapped out of it. Without missing a beat, he turned to look at her fingers as though startled to see them there before croaking, “Yes, please. Water sounds lovely.”

Yassen stared. Alex didn’t seem at all phased or even upset, despite the fact that a few seconds ago the doctor at his elbow had announced he was having a seizure. Now he was clearing his throat again.

Dr. Tapija stood and filled a small paper cup from the tap and handed it to him. “Be sure to drink lots of liquids. You’re dehydrated as it is.”

“Chert,” Yassen muttered. 

Alex took the cup and sipped it, looking at him. “What’s wrong?”

Yassen cut off the doctor before she could speak, tossing Alex the keys. “I forgot to roll the window down for Trouble. Get your blood drawn and then go make sure your stupid dog isn’t dead or pissing in my car.”

Alex started and stood. “But--”

“It’s pretty cool out,” Yassen reminded him. It was true. The evenings had been fairly temperate since they’d arrived. “He’s probably fine. I’m mostly concerned for my upholstery.”

Once Alex’s blood had filled three little vials and the boy himself had darted outside, the doctor stood and nodded to the door. “I need to run these.”

“What do you mean that was a seizure?” he demanded, gesturing her into the next room.

“Exactly that,” she said wearily. She set one of the vials into a centrifuge and started the machine, before busying herself with a microscope. “They’re called absence seizures, formerly described as petit mals. Usually last only a few seconds and rarely leave lasting damage. Mostly they impede focus and behavioral appropriateness, but are generally considered unserious in children. I’m not so sure in this case. Have you noticed any before?”

Yassen reluctantly admitted, “No.”

“It’s hard to say what’s causing them without further testing, but I suspect brain damage is the culprit. He didn’t mention any family history of the condition and it’s the wrong age to onset if it’s genetic. I’d recommend you take him to a specialist to get an EEG or MRI scan. It’s technically possible the seizures are side effects of his chemical withdrawal or opiate abuse, but I’d want to rule out head trauma first. It seems he’s had a lot of that, which may account for his possible vision deterioration and body temperature issues too.” She glanced over as the printer began spitting out the results of one of the machines. 

Brain damage. This wasn’t the first time it had been mentioned.

Yassen forced his muscles to remain relaxed, to show this woman no hint of his internal state. He wanted to hit something. Despite his lack of a medical degree, Yassen understood well enough that what brain damage meant. 

It was irreversible. It would plague the boy for the rest of his life. 

When he broke out of prison, it was under the premise that Alex could detox and resume a normal life in a matter of weeks. The ferocity of his withdrawal was startling, but in retrospect, it was hardly avoidable and neither of their faults. Yassen had simply scaled his involvement and adjusted his expectations to meet those shifting needs. A few extra months hadn’t seemed so bad. It wasn’t like he had other plans and if Alex needed more, then he simply needed to give more. It was essentially just math.  

The doctor glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Has he had any other problems you can recall? Issues focusing, emotional disturbances. Impulse control or inappropriate displays of anger?”

Yassen felt his lips thin, fighting the impulse to look away. “His situation has been unstable. He’s had panic attacks and mood swings for some time.”

She shook her head. “I’ll take that as a yes to all four.”

How bad was the brain damage Alex might have? How much of Alex’s emotional instability and temper could be traced back to it? He wasn’t convinced Alex could resume a normal life as he was now, not without constant monitoring and care. Yassen had been prepared to give up a significant amount of time helping Hunter’s stupid orphan survive childhood. A few months seemed reasonable. Lately, Yassen had even found himself considering giving up a few years to ensure Alex made it into adulthood without dying of aggravatingly preventable causes. If the core of Alex’s problems wasn’t A216 or drug use, but brain damage, he might never get better. At best, his physical health might improve, but he’d never be clear-headed enough to fully be independent again. 

His fists clenched at his sides. Yassen was healthy, but he wasn’t immortal. Alex would outlive him, provided that the spy world left them both alone. Taking care of Alex might theoretically require the rest of Yassen’s life and  _ it might still not be enough. _

Consulting the printed sheets, Dr. Tapija handed them to him a second later. “Good news. In short, he’s anemic but not so much that he needs a transfusion, he’s dehydrated, and has garden-variety malnourishment. Apart from the potential brain injury, his drug problem, and the fact that his stomach is essentially primed for ulcer development, I’d say those are your most pressing concerns.”

Yassen glanced at the sheet numbly, but didn’t really understand it. He tucked it in his pocket anyway. “What sort of care does he need to resolve this?”

She studied him, eyes flicking back to the gun he’d lowered but never tucked out of sight. “Should I bother? I have no guarantee that you’ll ensure he gets any.”

Yassen didn’t so much as blink. They were nearing the end of their transaction, after all. Hostages tended to get skittish at this stage. “I doubt that matters. You won’t withhold information, not on the off chance that I will. I saw your  _ Doctors Without Borders _ certificate, by the way. Very impressive.”

She set her jaw but something weary had overtaken her frame. Pulling a pad of paper towards her, she began scribbling. “Your biggest priority should be to stop the vomiting. Alone, it probably accounts for more than fifty percent of his symptoms and doesn’t allow him to retain water or nutrients even when he does eat. He’ll need anti-emetics to fight the nausea and a proton-pump inhibitor to decrease his stomach acidity while the tears finish healing.”

At least that sounded easy to solve. “Where do I get those?”

She grimaced and shot him another distrustful look. “He needs prescription grade intervention, but if nothing else, the over the counter stuff is better than nothing. Motion sickness pills will help with the nausea and antacids should help his stomach. I’ll write you a list of prescription names and dosages to look for otherwise.”

Yassen nodded. “What else?”

“Malnutrition is his next biggest issue, though resolving the nausea will go a long way towards fixing that. Continue giving him liquid supplements and multivitamins.” She paused. “The seizures suggest more serious brain damage, but they aren’t dangerous in their current state. He isn’t old enough to drive or anything like that. I can give you a list of medications to reduce them, but they can have sedative like effects that may cause more problems than they solve with what he’s currently on.” She hesitated. “There are some risks letting him take the Xanax and the Oxycontin together. They’re about the same for the anti-seizure medication. If he takes it, you need to take him off the xanax.”

Yassen scowled, but nodded. “Will increasing the cannabis help to compensate?”

Her lips thinned. “Without knowing what kind and what dosages, it’s hard to say. There aren’t many studies on the topic anyway. It could be just as bad as the xanax in the right concentrations.”

“What about him being cold all the time?”

She rubbed her temples. “Chronic hypothermia. Just keep him warm. It could be anything. Brain damage, a side effect of his drug abuse, the weight loss, withdrawal. That’s the problem-- most of his symptoms have no clear causes. I’m not even certain what’s causing such severe nausea in the first place. Your kid is a medical nightmare.” She looked at him directly then and folded her arms. “You can dance around his symptoms as long as you want, but he’s going to need proper testing and long term treatment.”

Yassen nodded. “I know. How long can he go without?”

“He should get treatment immediately.”

“I understand that,” Yassen said calmly. “But if that’s not possible at the moment, what would you say is a safe cutoff point?”

She sighed heavily. “If you absolutely cannot take him to a hospital now, I’d say you have a few weeks to a month. Maybe two, assuming the vomiting clears up and his other symptoms don’t get worse. The problem with the brain damage is that I don’t know how severe it is right now. It could be still happening. If there’s some kind of slow bleed in his brain, he could have an aneurysm at any time.”

Yassen gave himself a second to respond, pretending to be lost in thought instead of embroiled in panic. “What are the odds of that happening?”

“More than zero,” she admitted reluctantly, handing him the paper she’d scribbled on. “But given his current state, I’d say less than five percent. If vomiting blood was the only symptom that brought you to my door, he probably isn’t going to get any worse even if you mistook his seizures for panic attacks.”

Ah, so the threat of aneurysm was more of a scare tactic than anything else. A good one, to give her credit. 

Yassen studied the paper, keeping an eye on the doctor out of the corner of his eye. Now that he had the diagnosis, his first instinct was the kill the only witness. She would call the police as soon as possible; even if she could normally be bribed into silence, the presence of a child in danger was usually enough for most people to dredge up some semblance of morals. 

The risk was obvious. Leaving a trail was an easy way to wind up dead or back in prison.

On the other hand, she had no images or other evidence of them thanks to Alex’s iPod. Her description of her two visitors wouldn’t necessarily match their bulletin. They’d long since switched cars. It would still get the authorities’ attention, however-- any serious crimes involving a boy Alex’s age would probably be flagged in national databases for review. Her account would likely line up with what MI6 knew of his physical condition though perhaps the Americans weren’t privy to that information, not that he could count on that. 

If Yassen murdered her, however, there would be nothing to make this incident stand out. No one to report they’d seen a boy at all. If anything, her death would be a small-town crime that would likely go unsolved as the local police were more likely to scrutinize whatever family she had before considering the odds that a stranger had anything to do with it. 

It was the correct move. The simplest one.

At least, it would be if he were just a contract killer. 

He grimaced. Being both babysitter and assassin meant that shooting her would be more trouble than it was worth. Alex would be upset with him, for one. Breaking his promise would destroy Alex’s trust in him and the last time he’d allowed that to take a hit, he’d gotten shut out and tantrumed at for three days-- and that had been under ideal conditions within the prison itself. Otherwise, Yassen was simply rolling the dice with Alex’s unpredictable responses to death and his usual critical attitude towards Yassen’s willingness to kill. That really wasn’t a fight he wanted to have if it could be avoided.

Perhaps killing her wasn’t the only option. So long as she didn’t report them before they were out of the area, there was little valuable information she could pass on. Much of Alex’s physical state could be gleaned from his phone conversation with the SAS men or his prison records. Knowledge of the stomach tears and seizures wouldn’t do the authorities a significant amount of good; in fact, it may even convince MI6 that Alex was beyond salvaging as an operative, if indeed that was still their goal. Not only would they have to knowingly look past his hallucinations and drug abuse, they’d somehow have to discount epilepsy before sending him back into the field. Knowing that Yassen and Alex had been in the Grand Canyon wouldn’t particularly benefit the CIA once they moved on. Yassen had no intention of returning anyway.

In fact, if he were clever, he could use this as a chance to misdirect.

 


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Almost Monday, everyone! I know I've been waiting until midnight to post lately, since it is so much fun to wake up to reviews, but alas, it is late and I am impatient tonight. In thirty minutes it will be Monday, so technically, in everyone else's timezones, it's fine, right?

Alex r eturned just as Yassen was moving the now unconscious woman into the janitorial closet. He froze. “What did you--”

“I knocked her out. Her assistant will find her in the morning,” Yassen informed him, dropping her inside and pulling the door shut. Spotting Alex’s expression, he shoved it back open and snapped, “You can check her pulse if you’d like.”

“I believe you,” Alex said, shifting on his feet. He watched Yassen close the door again and seal it with some medical ties he’d found in the laboratory. “What did she say about the test results?”

Yassen didn’t glance up from where he began gathering everything that had Alex’s DNA on it: the needles, the sharps, bloody cotton balls, the vials in the machine. They’d likely be identified anyway, but he didn’t want to make it easy for them. He had to make it look like he’d made the effort not to get caught. Delays in discovery would only play in their favor. “She printed them off. I’ll explain them in the car.” He glanced up at Alex. “Go back into the exam room and search for your girlfriend’s San Francisco address. Then, go into the browser history and delete the search.”

“My girlfriend,” Alex repeated, voice flat.

Yassen worked very hard not to roll his eyes and failed. “Or however you’d care to describe the girl Cray kidnapped.”

“Why?”

“I want the FBI to think that’s where you’re headed.”

Alex folded his arms. “No. They’ll go bothering the Pleasures about whether or not I’ve been in contact with them or put them under protection. They’ve been so kind. I’ve troubled them enough as it is.”

Yassen straightened long enough to jerk a hand in the direction of the supply closet. “That’s the point. If we don’t misdirect them, I have to kill the nice doctor. I can do that instead if you--”

“Nevermind, I’ll look it up,” Alex sighed and ducked back into the exam room. Yassen heard the clattering of keys a second later. “There. Done. I deleted it. Anything else?”

“No. We need to go.” Grabbing an antibacterial wipe, Yassen quickly ran it over every surface in the lab that Alex may have touched before joining the boy in the exam room to repeat the action. “Do you have everything you brought with you?” he asked, grabbing the pad of paper the doctor had been using to take notes before grabbing her purse and digging around for her car keys.

Alex nodded and stood, face pale and tense as he pulled out his iPod to double check the signal interception. The boy waited patiently in the car, stroking Trouble’s bobbing head, while Yassen moved the doctor’s vehicle out of sight of the road. All he needed after a day like today was someone finding her too early. He didn’t know if the woman had family, but hopefully they’d take at least another hour or two before they went looking for her. Without stopping, it would only take five hours or so to reach Las Vegas. Yassen had every intention of changing cars again and doing some proper reconnaissance to locate his identities man, but even an hour or two could put them out of a tactical response range if it just so happened that the FBI or CIA was in the area. 

Yassen shoved down the mess of emotions twisting in his stomach and began mentally listing as he returned to the car. First, he’d have to give Alex some kind of explanation. Much of it he’d overheard, but Yassen had deliberately kept control over how much Alex knew about the seizures. His reactions could be unpredictable and Yassen wanted the chance to tailor his information to Alex’s emotional state. Next, the little dog had to go-- tonight. Alex would be upset, but Yassen wanted to get to Vegas and get their identities started within the next 24 hours. That meant moving quickly and discreetly. Third, Yassen now had to find a pharmacy to rob. He consulted the list the doctor had scribbled for him before shoving it back into his jacket pocket. Hopefully, these chemicals would be fairly ubiquitous.

He tugged open the door and looked in at Alex. The spike of dread that lodged in his throat startled him, but he swallowed past it. Alex wouldn’t be happy, but he would cope. Somehow.

O

Alex didn’t speak as Yassen climbed into the front seat and pulled them out of the lot. Trouble drowsed on his lap, enjoying the head rubs without seeming to pick up on any of the tension in the car. A distant fear coiled in Alex’s chest. Not as much as he expected, however. He supposed there was really only so much anxiety he could offer the world in any given day. He’d have answers soon enough. Yassen wasn’t liable to lie to him-- that was one of the reasons Alex trusted him at all. 

So why had he pushed Alex to leave the room with that nonsense about Trouble? It wasn’t until Alex reached the car and found the pup napping that he realized that the assassin and the doctor were alone together. Reluctantly cracking the window and taking Trouble out to relieve himself, Alex had been half-convinced that Yassen was going to break his promise and kill the woman anyway. Obviously he hadn’t, so what other reason did he have to make him leave?

Sick of wondering, Alex took a deep breath and decided to just get it over with. “What did you talk about when I left?” Ten minutes had passed since they’d gotten on the nearest highway. The tension in his body felt like it’s own entity-- the twisted coils of a snake in cruel armor, sent to kill him. He shut his eyes against the bright metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Great. Another flashback. “You wanted me to leave the room, so how bad is it? Am I dying? Do I have cancer?”

Yassen didn’t bother denying the accusation. “You don’t have cancer. Your health is bad, but not in the emergency sense. We’ll stop and get you some medicine in an hour or so. Most of your problems can be traced back to the nausea, so once that’s resolved, you should feel much better.”

Alex’s lips thinned. “And that’s it?”

“No, there’s more.” He paused. Rather than stalling, Yassen seemed to consider his words carefully. “You also have a light form of epilepsy, at least for the time being.”

“What? Are you joking?”

Yassen shook his head.

“Where did she come up with that?” Alex dug his fists into his pants, gripping his knees so hard it hurt. A disbelieving laugh ripped itself from his throat. “That’s insane. I’m not having seizures. I would have noticed. You would have noticed. She must have made it up. Scare you into taking me somewhere else.”

“I saw it myself, Alex. A small one, only a few seconds long. They’re called absence seizures. Do you remember when she snapped her fingers by your head? She did that for a quarter of a minute before you noticed.” Yassen spared a glance at him. It took Alex a second to realize that Yassen seemed… unhappy, for lack of a better word. “I’ve been mistaking them for panic attacks,” he admitted quietly.

Alex reeled. “But… why? How long? Is it the injections?”

Yassen shook his head. “I don’t know how long and it could very well be the injections.”

“That’s what she said?” he demanded. “That it’s the injections? What else could it be?”

Yassen hesitated. “It was hard to determine a source for any of your symptoms. Medical nightmare, was her preferred term. The injections have so many unpredictable neurological side effects, we can’t rule them out against anything else.”

It wasn’t exactly an evasion, but he hadn’t answered the question exactly. It gave him pause. Alex found himself regularly admiring and annoyed at how precise Yassen could be. If he wasn’t...

Something had to be going on.

“What else could it be?” Alex repeated, eyes narrowing. He wouldn’t lie in the face of a direct question. Probably. “Yassen?”

“It’s possible that you have brain damage,” Yassen said at last. He snuck another glance at Alex. “It’s fine. I’ll take you for extra testing done to rule it out. Don’t look so worried. If you do have some form of it, it’s unlikely to get any worse.”

“How do you know? You didn’t know I’ve been having seizures or when they started,” Alex snapped. “What if they started recently? What else has been missed?”

Yassen winced ever so slightly, but at least he didn’t pretend everything was fine. “It is possible that it’s getting worse, but the doctor said it’s unlikely. I asked. If it is, it should be more noticeable and if so, we’ll sort it out when we come to that. Focus on the problem in front of you.”

“I didn’t even know I was having them,” Alex moaned, burying his face in his hands. “How can I focus on them if I don’t know when they happen?”

Yassen shook his head. “That’s why I don’t think you should worry. If neither of us noticed them before, it seems that they haven’t been seriously impacting you. Tapija said they weren’t damaging on their own, so long as you don’t drive or do anything that could become unsafe with such interruptions. Simply try to account for any moments where you may be missing time.”

Alex swallowed and stared at his lap, feeling tears prick at his eyes. After several seconds of silence, he muttered thickly, “It’s not fair. I always think I’ve finally hit rock bottom and that it’s time to get better but then it keeps getting worse. Why me?”

Knuckles whitening against the steering wheel, Yassen took his eyes off the road just long enough to meet Alex’s despairing gaze with his own steady one. “It’s not worse, it’s better. Believe it or not, everything we learned today is a good thing.” He continued before Alex could interrupt in fury. “You can’t solve problems you don’t know about, little Alex. None of these are new and you would have continued to suffer regardless. Now we know why you’ve had such trouble eating and how to fix it. Now we know why you’re tired and cold constantly. Now we know about the absence seizures and can plan for them. You are no worse off than you were before. Now you have choices.”

Alex sniffled, mostly to keep himself from bursting into tears. Stupid. It was probably too much to hope for that it was just a mood swing. Damn his life. He dragged a hand across his face. “Like what?”

“Tapija gave me a list of medications that will reduce the number of seizures. However, they have sedative-like effects,” Yassen informed him. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, obviously planning the rest of their night in his head. “I will get them for you, but it’s up to you if you’d like to take them. The seizures aren’t very severe and I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to remain alert. Also, you would have to go off your xanax. It’s your decision, of course.”

Alex grimaced, though Yassen’s words had actually managed to soothe something in him. Just a little. Rubbing his eyes, he took a series of deep breaths until his voice steadied out. He had options. Not great ones, but he wasn’t trapped. Not exactly. “What about the rest of it? How do we fix the nausea?”

“The good doctor gave me a complete list of prescription antiemetics and proton pump inhibitors.” At Alex’s squint, he added, “Pills to stop you from vomiting and to decrease the acid production of your stomach so the tears can finish healing. Once you can keep things down, we can tackle your dehydration and malnutrition.”

Alex frowned. “Okay. And me being cold all of the time?”

“It’s likely just malnutrition and weight loss,” Yassen assured him. “You’ll just need to stay warm.”

Alex grumbled, “Well, it’s not like you don’t nag me about wearing my coat every day as it is.” After another pause, he looked back up at Yassen and asked, “That’s it?”

The Russian nodded. “Regarding your health issues.”

“Bloody hell. Was she really chatty or something?”

Yassen gave him a look. “We have lots to do tonight, little Alex. Switch cars, rob a pharmacy, and find some place to leave the mutt.”

Right. A wave of tiredness swept over Alex, tasting oddly of relieved resignation. It was a lot of work taking care of said mutt. He wasn’t the best dog owner in the world and Trouble would be better off adopted out to some family who wouldn’t keep him in a car all day. He knew this. Accepted it. Or at least thought he had.

It still felt like something inside him was being crushed.

Alex dug around in his pocket and broke another small gummy disc in half and ate it. After a second thought, he popped the second half in his mouth as well. Trouble sniffed at his fingers and tried to do likewise, but Alex pushed his little muzzle away and earned himself a chomp in response. “Already?” Alex asked, rubbing his wounded skin. “Are you certain?”

Yassen gave him a flat look. 

“It’s almost eight in the evening,” Alex pointed out. “Unless you know of any twenty four shelters in the area, we’ll have to wait until morning.” 

Yassen sighed. “Fine. In the morning.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Ever So Slightly Early Monday, everyone! Here's a funner chapter than the last, thank god, so feel free to let me know exactly what you think of the tone. I'm always curious to see how that goes over-- I think I'm so funny, but then worry that I keep yanking you guys back and forth with emotional whiplash. Let me know how it pans out. ^^

Just shy of ten at night, Yassen found a small pharmacy outside of Tucson that fit his requirements. Not only was it on the edge of town and tucked away in a sparsely trafficked road in the warehouse district, it was clearly closed for the evening and only had basic security. The nearest police station was at least twenty minutes away; this wasn’t remotely the nicest part of town so the odds of a swift response time were acceptably low anyway. Provided that he moved quickly, he could be in and out before anyone showed up to silence the alarm.

Alex chuckled in the seat next to him, picking up the little pup by the middle and pretending to consult him. The warm night air whispered around them, reeking of petrol and engine grease through Alex’s open window. “Do you want to help us rob a chemist, Trouble? I suppose this can count as your Batdog debut.”

Yassen frowned. “Exactly how high are you?”

“I might have had another edible during the drive.” Alex eyed him askance before chuckling. “I didn’t feel it kick in so I thought maybe the first had gone bad or wasn’t working. I was just impatient, I think, because I’m super high now.”

Grimacing, Yassen parked across the street. Hopefully Alex could self-entertain for twenty minutes. “Kill the cameras and wait in the car. I won’t be long.”

Alex snorted and shook his head, activating his iPod. “I have to come with to isolate the signals.”

“Do it from here.” 

“I can’t, Yassen. There’s so many.” Alex glanced up at him from beneath furrowed, thin eyebrows. With a flick of his wrist, he showed him the screen, populated only by a scrawling list of what Yassen assumed were digital addresses. “I can’t tell apart the video camera feeds from a wifi connection to a printer at this distance. They’re all just... numbers and letters. Those could be anything. I don’t understand them. I’ll have to point and shoot.”

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose. Somehow, incredibly, Alex had found a way to make his night even more difficult. It was becoming borderline pathologic. 

“How long ago did you take your last edible?” he ground out, catching his hand already reaching for the cigarettes he’d left on the dashboard. He forced it to retract.

Alex laughed. “Maybe thirty minutes ago. My first one was about an hour and a half past. I’ll be high for ages.” He picked up Trouble a second time, ignoring the irritated yip. “Batdog, this is your moment.”

“Absolutely not,” Yassen said, careful to conceal any signs of anger.It wasn’t the boy’s fault. Not really. Alex should have told him how much he was taking, but Yassen knew he was equally responsible for not paying closer attention. 

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this was his own fault. It had been a long, upsetting day, though Alex had seemed to accept the news of his epilepsy with more grace than expected. Perhaps he’d underestimated the boy’s distress. Allowing Alex open access to the cannabis had also been a decision that Yassen made. He’d known that he would have to remain diligent, but had allowed himself to discount the possibility that Alex would prefer escapism to sobriety even knowing they had things to handle tonight.

He would just have to figure something else out.

“Guess you have to stay here, Trouble. You can guard the car.” Alex sighed and set the furry devil in the backseat. He caught Yassen’s eye. “What? I’ll be fine. I evaded the SAS, CIA, and FBI like this before. This will hardly take any time.”

Yassen exhaled slowly through his nose as he pulled on the black pair of gloves he’d picked up in the Grand Canyon. In an ideal world, he could put it off until tomorrow, but in an ideal world, Alex’s health wouldn’t be crumbling in the first place. 

The medication wasn’t optional. While Alex could decide for himself whether or not he wanted to address the seizures, the anti-nausea medication and acid reducers couldn’t really wait. Or at least, Yassen wouldn’t be remotely comfortable doing so. If Alex started vomiting blood again, he couldn’t assume the tear would heal fine on its own a second time, at which point, he’d probably have to take him to a hospital. Surgery might be required and it wasn’t as though he could continue holding small practitioners at gunpoint all night. 

Yassen checked the clip of his gun, even though the odds of confrontation were small. It was more of a reassuring motion than anything. “Fine. Stay behind me, stay quiet, and don’t touch anything. Just handle the signals. Can you do that?”

Alex saluted and laughed again. “Whatever you say, Assassin Batman.”

Yassen smothered a sigh. This was his life now.

Picking the lock of the employee entrance in the back of the pharmacy had been a simple matter for Yassen while Alex had quickly taken care of the two security cameras they passed in the meantime. The door pushed open in a matter of seconds, revealing a short hallway with doors to the bathroom and breakroom but ultimately led back into the storefront. A beeping security alarm requested their code in a pleasant feminine voice, before abruptly initiating a thirty second countdown. 

Yassen grabbed one of his lockpicks and approached the small unit. “Can you block this signal?”

Alex bit his lip. “I thought I did.” He swirled his finger around the trackpad. “I can try again….”

“Don’t bother,” Yassen told him as he recognized the model. He glanced back at the boy. “Are you too high to pay attention?”

“I don’t know,” Alex said. He came up behind the taller man and stood on his tiptoes to rest his chin on the man’s shoulder, studying the alarm. “Probably.”

Shaking him off, Yassen gestured to the unit. “Basic alarms 101 then. Small units like this are cheap and will dissuade the average burglar, but are quite easy to surpass if you know what you are doing. Most of these run off of technology from the early 90s.” He pried off the case of the housing and pointed to the interior. “There are three questions to ask yourself. First, can you cut off it’s power supply?” Yassen snipped a small wire protruding from the edge of the case into the wall. He pointed to another spot in the interior, where a red wire fed into a small square case, before snipping it as well. “Often they have a small backup. Look for something like a battery and sever that as well. Second, can you can interfere with the signals?”

Alex hummed. “Like my iPod?”

Yassen nodded. “Your little gadget works in that regard, yes, but if I had Scorpia resources I would request a jammer. Unless, of course, you didn’t wish to be noticed, at which point I would hire a hacker. Third, there’s the social engineering aspect. If the security company calls, you can often play dumb and pressure the call center employee to disregard the code.” He paused and spared a glance at Alex while he tucked his lockpicks into his pocket. “If they call, let me do the talking.”

Alex chuckled and followed Yassen deeper into the building. “What? Not impressed with my phone skills?”

Yassen gave him an irritated look as he wove between aisles, obviously intent on the chemical counter at the back. “You would be correct. The last thing I need is for you to repeatedly insist to strangers that I’m your mother.”

“Might as well be,” Alex grumbled. He grabbed a bag of gummy bears off an endcap and tore them open, popping three in his mouth.

Yassen gave an irritated huff. 

“What?”

“I told you not to touch anything. Also, didn’t you just have a doctor tell you that you’re malnourished less than four hours ago?” Yassen would have folded his arms and started in on a lecture to make his point, but he didn't want to press his luck on time. Instead he settled for examining the door leading behind the counter where the prescription drugs were stored. While the exterior was completely devoid of anything other than a card reader, Yassen strongly suspected it was alarmed. He rapped it with his knuckles. Too solid to break down himself. The glass dividing the pharmacist from the patrons was very obviously bullet proof. Again, this really wasn’t a great part of town.

He grimaced. Based on the sorry state of the back door alarm, he’d underestimated the owner. It seemed that they were smarter than he’d thought-- allowing the qualified thief free reign over the easy-to-replace aspirin and peach rings, while protecting the far more valuable merchandise with higher end security. 

“First of all,” Alex began, around a mouthful of candy. “I’m starving and these taste amazing. You should try one. Second, my throat still hurts. The doctor said to stick to soft foods.” 

Yassen sighed and waved a hand. “Just take the bag with you.”

“Sure thing, Mum,” Alex said, coming to hover at Yassen’s elbow. “So how do you get around this?”

Yassen studied the door. “I can’t. Key card readers are only easy if you can prepare in advance. It’s simple to copy a card or bring the right device to bypass the system, but far trickier to come in cold.”

“So how do you do it?”

“We break it down and get out of here before the alarm company sends help.” Yassen glanced around, feeling a fresh surge of frustration. Nothing he thought would actually break through. Did he have enough time to improvise a bomb? The small cleaning section they’d passed might have the right chemicals, but it wasn’t a guarantee and it would take time to find out if he could produce a blast powerful enough to get the job done. If he’d known in advance that he’d be robbing a pharmacy tonight, he could have planned for this and brought the proper breaching equipment.

A clock above the register watched them, unnaturally loud in the silence.

Alex held up the iPod and shrugged. “Okay. I’ll try to kill the signal again in case that helps. Do you want to use my last baht to blow through the door?”

Yassen stared at him in surprise. “Yes, actually that would be very helpful.”

Alex handed the little coin over without complaint before digging around in his pocket for the gum pack detonator. Swirling his finger across the trackpad, Alex nodded a second later. “Well, that’s all I can do. We should stand back.”

Yassen carefully placed the coin against the metal, atop the most likely area where the sensors were. Following Alex deeper into the aisles, he crouched behind a makeup display and flipped open the control. Finger poised over the button, he was unprepared for Alex’s sudden cackle. 

He froze, suddenly wary and glanced down at the boy beside him. “What’s the matter with you?”

Alex looked up at him with shining eyes. “I just realized we’re in the desert, on the run, about to blow up what is essentially a safe with what essentially amounts to dynamite. If we ride off on a pair of horses, we might officially be desperados in a cowboy movie.” Alex's eyes widened suddenly and he grinned. “Is there a saloon nearby? Are you going to get elected sheriff of somewhere? Can we rob a train next?”

Yassen let out an exhale, propping his chin on his hand and staring down at the boy huddled in the aisle beside him. 

Nothing about this should be remotely funny, yet somehow it was. Swallowing the mad urge to laugh, he raised an eyebrow and drawled, “I’ll be elected sheriff over my dead body.”

The force of the blast slammed the metal door against the opposite wall. 

Ears ringing, Yassen stood swiftly and hurried into the back room. Neat rows of beige medical shelving lined the walls while several jutted outwards into the room’s walking space in an effort to increase storage. He scanned the labels of the first rapidly, having already committed the names the doctor scribbled on paper to memory. Finding the first one on his list, he shoved all three bottles into the first plastic bag he could find. He’d returned to scanning the shelves when he heard a snap.

Alex was tugging on plastic gloves from a dispenser when Yassen looked around. “What?” he asked. He pawed through the small, hanging plastic bags across from the registers labeled Customer Fulfillment. “You were worried about fingerprints, right?”

Yassen found another two familiar chemical names and threw them into his bag. “Yes. Just hurry.” 

Swearing under his breath, Yassen moved over another shelf and skipped a few rows. So far, he was fairly certain he had the anti-nausea and stomach acid medicines. Where were the epilepsy drugs? The condition couldn’t be that uncommon. Surely they had at least a small amount on hand.

Ears straining, he thought he could make out the ticking of the clock, but no sirens yet. They had minutes left at best.

Where was it? Yassen skipped another row, raking his eyes over every label he could find. It had to be here. They couldn’t risk doing something like this a second time. How long had they been back here? If they were unlucky, if a patrol car had already been in the area--

His eyes seized upon the right bottle. Ripping it off the shelf, he hurled it into the bag and snapped, “Time to go.”

Silence.

“Alex?”

The boy in question stood rooted in place, one gloved hand raised to reach for the next bag while another had been looped around his opposite wrist. Eyes glassy, he stared at the rack with such unnerving stillness that for a split second, Yassen feared the brat had forgotten to breathe in the midst of his seizure. How could he have missed this happening before?

To be fair, normally seconds didn’t matter quite so much.

A siren wailed, distant yet drawing closer, followed by a resounding horn blast. It woke a fresh wave of adrenaline in him. A fire engine? The bomb may have set off some kind of silent smoke alarm.

_ Chert.  _

Yassen let out a burst of air in a great rush. Darting forward, he bent his knees just long enough to scoop Alex into a fireman’s carry and take off running, bag smacking against his hip. Alex wasn’t particularly heavy, but Yassen couldn’t just barrel through the hallway and risk slamming the boy’s head against the walls. As if additional brain damage was what they needed right now. Reluctantly, he slowed as he made his way to the back door, carefully watching the angles to ensure there was no impact.

With a gasp, Alex flailed and seemingly came back to life. “What are--?”

“Police,” Yassen grunted as he set Alex down beside the door and yanked it open. “Can you run?”

Alex nodded and followed, face creasing unhappily, but otherwise having the good sense to keep his mouth shut while they made it back to the car. There was little reason for Alex to doubt he’d had a seizure and very little time for Yassen to offer such redundant information. Red and blue lights began flashing at the opposite end of the street. Only one police car, so far. Probably investigating whatever alarm had been set off by the door blowing up. 

Turning over the engine, Yassen pulled away from the curb and shot off into the night. Trouble yowled in the backseat as he smashed muzzle first into the door, irate at his sudden rude awakening. After three blocks and no signs of pursuit, Yassen slowed to normal speeds. The roads were mostly empty, so Yassen immediately headed deeper into the city to blend in among whatever nightlife traffic was available. Picking the first cluster of skyscrapers to appear ahead of them, he pulled into the nearest underground parking garage and descended to the lowest level as Alex dug around in the bags and studied the labels of their spoils.

“I don’t think I can even pronounce this one,” he said, holding out one of the bottles. 

Yassen gave it a cursory glance before he parked and shoved open his door. Only seven other cars had bothered coming this far down the structure, leaving the rest of the parking garage empty. His voice echoed slightly. “You don’t have to say it’s name out loud for it to work, little Alex. It’s not magic,” he told him, already spotting a taupe sedan that would practically blend into the scenery. “Put the mutt’s leash on. We’re switching cars.”

Grumbling, Alex gathered the little dog in his arms and climbed out of the car. His tone brightened suddenly. “Yassen?”

Busy inspecting his mark, it took Yassen a second or two to look up. He got it immediately. “No.”

“Pleaseeeee…..” Alex wheedled, clutching Trouble to his chest and rocking side to side beside the bright red sports car. His voice trailed just long enough to inspire the mutt to join in with a high pitched howl of its own. For a show of solidarity, it was particularly annoying-- and loud. Yassen scowled and looked around the parking garage, though no one came to investigate the cacophony. “Can’t we take this one instead?”

“It stands out,” Yassen said, folding his arms. “We need to blend in.”

Alex gestured to the mustang symbol with his elbow. “You couldn’t ask for a nobler steed to ride off into the sunset on. Just this once?”

Yassen felt himself breaking down under Alex’s hopeful, excited gaze. The boy was actually starting to bounce on his feet. That didn’t make the idea any less stupid, however much he wanted to emotionally counterbalance the terrible day Alex had had. As appealing as it was to let him live out his weird cowboy fantasy in the hopes that today’s upsets contributed less to his already crippling PTSD and anxiety, there were limits to how far Yassen could afford to go. Besides, there were plenty of other ways to make Alex happy. Strawberry milkshakes. More edibles. Playing with the dog.

Oh god. He’d forgotten about getting rid of that stupid dog in the morning. 

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Alex sensed his weakness, like a tiny, beggar-eyed vulture. Yassen could practically feel him circle. “Desperados don’t get elected sheriff,” he coaxed, grinning. “Let’s be cowboys for one night, Yassen.”

The former-assassin let out an exhale he felt to his bones and held up a lone finger. “One. Night,” he said firmly, approaching the car and holding up a single finger to reinforce the point. Struggled to ignore the spark in his own chest as Alex whooped. “And we switch it for something else in the morning.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Psst.... happy non-denominational winter holiday. :)

Alex stroked the soft fur atop Trouble’s rounded head, scritching gently behind his ears in the early morning light. Trouble elected to enjoy it for a few seconds before defaulting to immediately attacking the appendage, obviously preferring to play conqueror instead of cuddler. Swallowing, Alex reminded himself that this was all for the better. Trouble would go to some nice home where a proper owner could housetrain him. A nice big yard to run around in, maybe even other dogs to wrestle with.

Knowing the life he could give the little canine warrior wasn’t the best didn’t stop Alex from wishing it weren’t so. He’d miss the little arsehole, even if he spent most of his time trying to steal Alex’s food, bite his hands, or piss on everything he owned. 

Okay, maybe Alex was a little more ready to let go than he gave himself credit for. 

“Little Alex.”

“I know, I know.” Ignoring the knot in his stomach, Alex nodded to Yassen and stepped out of the car. 

The older man handed him the leash from where it had been folded in the backseat of their newest ride, an exceptionally boring Ford Taurus, and leveled him with a steady look. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

Alex shrugged. “Up to you. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

From their shaded parking spot beneath a palm tree, Yassen considered the animal shelter across the street and shrugged. On the surface, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about the squat stone building to Alex’s eyes. “This is a county building, so I expect the security cameras are decent. Once the CIA ties us to the doctor’s office, white noise on security systems becomes our calling card so I’d rather not use your little iPod. We’ll draw less attention if you go alone.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a bit. Ouch--” Hissing in pain, Alex snapped the leash to Trouble’s collar, before half-dropping the twisting puppy to the ground. He gently tugged the wandering mutt towards the front entrance. “Come on, you little bastard,” he muttered, just loud enough for Yassen to hear. “Let’s foist you on some unsuspecting family.”

The reception area was simple but small, decorated by glitter-drenched posters made at the local elementary school. A wide wooden counter spread across the length of half the room, manned by two women in matching neon green t-shirts that screamed ‘volunteer workers’ more effectively than their cheap lanyard badges. Alex found himself in a short queue behind a sobbing woman clutching a sparkly cat collar and a missing pet poster. One of the volunteers called her to the counter while the second finished helping a mother and toddler holding the leash of a somewhat elderly looking terrier. 

Trouble took one look at the terrier and lunged, barking and snarling loudly enough to draw shocked stares. 

Alex clamped his hand down on the leash, feeling his cheeks warm as he avoided the direct gazes of everyone around him. As the small family hurried away, Alex gave them a muttered apology before scooping up Trouble into his arms and approaching the desk. 

“Oh, dear.” The woman at the counter gave him a strained smile as he approached. She seemed a touch overwhelmed at the sight of the snarling little bastard. 

Probably new.

“That’s one way to put it,” Alex agreed ruefully. He shifted the furious pup in his arm, trying to evade his ire with mixed results and wincing as Trouble managed to find some purchase with his little claws. The woman opened her mouth to interrupt but Alex was eager to get on with his day. Yassen had been pretty up front with the morning’s schedule and Alex owed him for the car thing. “He’s quite the handful. My stepdad and I found him on the side of the road next to his dead mom, but we can’t take care of him anymore. I don’t know what breed he is, but I’m not sure I’d give him to a family with kids or other animals. He pays no attention to commands and really, really likes to bite.”

The woman opened her mouth, eyes wide and seemingly lost for words. Wooden. Kind of like adults did when a kid asked an embarrassing question loudly in public.

Alex felt a second flare of heat rise to his face. He’d probably missed some kind of obvious bit of dog knowledge and it was all his fault that Trouble was behaving so badly. Ian had never let him have pets, though! Hopefully whatever Alex had failed to do wouldn’t make the little guy unadoptable. Someone who knew what they were doing could probably retrain him, right? Trouble was challenging, sure, but Alex couldn’t help but like his wayward mutt. What he lacked in obedience, he certainly made up for in personality. As much of a pain as dealing with him was, Alex had needed Trouble as much as Trouble had needed him. He’d been a wonderful distraction. It had eased something in him that Alex couldn’t quite name, to be able to take care of something nice and soft, with relatively easy problems to solve since his own were so--

Wait. Was that how Yassen felt about him?

“Well, um, sweetie,” the woman said, voice a little higher than was clearly natural for her. “I have to ask. Like, actually, legally required to. Is your rabies vaccine current?”

O

Tapping his cigarette out the window, Yassen straightened as Alex approached the car with his arms folded stiffly and expression… oddly blank. That inspired a wave of resignation in the older man as he exhaled smoke safely out of the cabin. It had been an impossible situation, but one he’d quickly grown resigned to. Alex could neither be persuaded to abandon the animal to die nor be prevented from bonding with the furry bastard. Even Yassen had gotten used to the little ball of rage and fluff. While he half expected the loss of the dog to correlate with a sharp spike in Alex’s panic attacks, he also knew that there was no way he could indefinitely drag them both across several continents without becoming noteworthy. 

He’d find a way to make it up to the boy. Maybe he’d steal another sports car or something. Alex had enjoyed it. It hadn’t been the smartest move as every second that they drove something so flashy put them at risk, but Yassen had only kept it for a few hours. Well, had only driven it on the road for a few hours. Showing Alex how to do donuts in that empty parking lot had taken half an hour at most. Or two. 

Okay, fine. It had taken two hours and twenty six minutes of unnecessary risk.

It still barely counted.

Yassen groaned softly and let his head fall back against the headrest. No more sports cars. Right now, he’d just have to deal with whatever fallout leaving the dog unleashed upon them both.

Alex tugged open the door and eased into his seat, brows furrowing ever so slightly as he stared out the windshield. If it wasn’t for his eye movements and coordination as he buckled his seatbelt, Yassen might have suspected he was having another absence seizure.

Yassen waited a solid sixty seconds before speaking. “Everything alright?”

With a choking noise, Alex pitched forward, sucking in a lungful of air as he rested his elbows against the dashboard. It was as though he couldn’t remain upright otherwise. Yassen froze as the boy’s shoulders began to shake and soft gasps filled the car.

Damn it. Goddamnit. He’d known this would end in tears. 

Sitting stiffly upright, Yassen couldn't quite suppress the instinct to fight or take flight. He sighed. At least he didn’t actively try to hide Alex’s face with a blanket this time. Small improvement. 

It was as though time was trapped in syrup. Yassen uneasily listened to the boy’s soft gasps, unwilling to fully speculate on just how much this would derail Alex’s emotional stability for the next few weeks. How much worse this would make the nightmares and hallucinations. Or impact Alex’s ability to bond with anything ever again. 

“I know you wanted to keep him,” Yassen said after a small pause, mildly reassured by how steady his voice sounded if somewhat dismayed at how rushed the words were as they left his lips. “But I promise to buy you another dog when we get to Russia. Any dog you want. Or a cat. Or a lizard or something-- I don’t know what English boys like. Doesn’t matter. Any pet you want, little Alex.”

Alex sucked in another deep breath, but didn’t look up. He almost formed words this time.

With an indignant huff, Yassen realized he might never get used to dealing with Alex when he got like this. He could handle anthrax better than tears at this point. He was well past wondering why. The fact remained that this was just a problem he had, but was he doomed to devolve into panic  _ every _ time? Yassen had thought there was just a certain threshold at which one could be desensitized to anything. Surely he had to be close.

He found himself trying to fill the silence-- anything other than quietly listen to Alex weep. “Besides, the dog was an idiot. Training the little imbecile was a nightmare. We’ll get you a smarter one. One that won’t maul you seventy percent of the time.”

Alex finally looked up. His eyes shone with unshed tears, but his lips were twitching into a helpless grin. The little bastard was laughing again. 

Dragging in a ragged breath, he choked out, “Trouble isn’t a dog. He’s a baby coyote.”

Yassen stared at him. “A baby--” he said, before he stopped himself. Swore. Couldn’t stop swearing. That set Alex off again. He wasn’t even sure in what language he was speaking anymore-- maybe all of them. He didn’t stop. At some point it morphed into laughter, mirroring Alex’s and filling the car around them.

 


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Okay, okay. Enough high cowboy shenanigans. Back to the plot!

O

Alex officially hated stake outs. If you’d done one, you’d done them all. Nothing interesting ever happened, yet it required absolute attention. He sighed. Studying literature had been less boring because at least occasionally the teacher would put on a film.

Being trapped in a car with Yassen was normal now, but at least when it was moving, there were slightly different landscapes to look at. Las Vegas wasn’t nearly as exciting or glamorous as he’d been led to believe by years of television and movies. Perhaps it was because he’d come in the daylight, but instead of gleaming buildings and flashing neon lights, all it seemed like was a dusty metropolis trying to oversell itself. If a city could have a character, Las Vegas would be a girl he sat next to in maths back at Brooklands. Danielle was loud, brash, and uninterested in any serious topic. Instead, she cheerfully cracked jokes and disrupted class, providing entertainment and demanding attention in equal spades. As much as Alex didn’t mind her most of the time, her antics had gotten old when he realized she hadn’t done much more than help everyone pass time with little to show for it: if anything, it just meant there was less time for the lecture.

Maybe adults needed that and that’s why this city existed.

He kicked his feet up on the dashboard, refusing to lower them even as Yassen swept a dislodging hand at him. A niggle of anxiety threatened to grow within him which he stubbornly shut down. 

Just because this was the first time in weeks that they’d done anything besides aimlessly drive didn’t mean anything. New identities were the only thing standing between them and starting over in Russia. Change was on the horizon. 

Knowing it wasn’t the same as feeling it. Alex had grown used to their little routines and his stomach felt like someone had upturned a bucket of ice inside it. He took another swallow of smoothie. “No, it’s more like those Facebook naming games. Or at least, that’s what I was thinking of when I came up with it.”

Yassen raised a single eyebrow, hardly looking up from his flip phone as he hammered it with his fingers. “What?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one. The ones where you find out your ‘whatever’ name based off of the street you grew up on or your birthdate or some other fact about you. Pirate name. Stripper name. Wrestling name.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. They’re stupid, but fun. Anyway, that’s kind of how I’ve been picking food places.”

“By using Facebook naming games.”

Alex groaned. “By using the idea. I could write it down if you like. First, I look at the name of the city. If it’s got one part, we find a place with a drive thru or take away, but if it’s got two parts we go inside. Las Vegas has two parts, see. The color of our current car determines the cardinal direction we should drive in: white is west, black is east, silver is south, and red sends us north. After that, my most recent hallucination determines the cuisine, but that’s more complicated to explain. Tie-breakers are to match the first letter of the town name and the name of the restaurant.”

Yassen’s brow furled, looking up from his screen. “We’re in Las Vegas driving a silver car. How we ended up at a Jamba Juice drive thru on the west side of the city for breakfast?”

Actually, they’d been driving past and Alex had been in the mood. 

He hurriedly gestured at the building across the street. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“It is.” Yassen set down his phone, finally completing another seemingly endless series of texts with his unspecified ‘contact’. They’d gone shopping for more clothing, only this time the assassin had insisted on changing appearances yet again. His short hair was now ash brown. Combined with his new manner of dressing in a neat button up sweater, thin metal glasses, and a pair of gray slacks, Yassen looked like a librarian with a gym habit rather than a fitness trainer off the clock.

Alex’s own transformation was about as jarring. According to Yassen, apart from dressing in a radically different style, the best thing you could do was change your age: Alex now sported a close fitting gray long sleeved shirt and a pair of cargo shorts that fell to his calves. Emphasizing how short and small he was, something about the outfit also felt a little bit kiddish to him when he looked in the mirror-- which Yassen insisted was the entire point. Much as Alex hated looking like a tall twelve-year-old, it did make them stand out far less. Yassen had essentially aged himself while subtracting a good year or two from Alex. 

They’d fought over his hair, of course. It was freshly dyed to match Yassen’s, yet remained stubbornly uncut.

Kicking his feet against the dash in a steady drumming motion, Alex picked at a stray thread on his sleeve. “So what are we waiting for?”

Yassen’s lips thinned, eyes on the small storefront. Instead of a copier shop, this identity broker seemed to be in the business of personalized art prints. Alex spotted several advertisements in the window for t-shirt and blanket designs. A load of anime-style posters hung on the walls of the interior, surrounded by other examples of fabric printing-- caps, totes, etc. The shop seemed as gaudy as it did cool. “It’s just a precaution. There are many people looking for us. Carelessness will get us killed.”

“Like when the Scorpia guys found us on the ship?” Alex hummed as Yassen’s look essentially confirmed it for him. “So you think they found us through the guy who did our original fake identities.”

Yassen gave him a half nod. “They may know this city is our destination, but not when we’ll be here and why. After all, Ferri moved out here to obscure himself from Scorpia. San Luca wished to cut ties as well; unless they interrogated him, I doubt he’d tell them anything about what we discussed.”

Alex studied him. “And you think they haven’t?”

“He’s an outside contractor,” Yassen told him. “Pressuring those when your organization is weak is just asking for others to suddenly make themselves unavailable. Scorpia can’t afford to burn that many bridges at once. Not at the moment.”

“So this is just a precaution against the odds that they bribed him instead?”

Yassen raised his eyebrows. “That’s not a bad guess. Yes, partially against that. There’s also the chance that Scorpia is watching all major identity brokers I’ve worked with, regardless of their knowing cooperation. A tall order but not an impossible one.”

Alex went back to sipping his smoothie, wrinkling his nose slightly at the taste. He’d let Yassen persuade him to have wheatgrass, ginger, and kale added to the mix of frozen yogurt and fruit. It damn near ruined the flavor. The stomach medication Yassen had given him this morning alongside his opiates seemed to be helping; he hadn’t thrown up since and his throat had even begun to hurt less. Eating well was an eventuality he was just going to have to face sooner or later.

Yassen turned to him suddenly. “I think it’s clear. Do you have your phone?”

Alex nodded and fished it out of his pocket to show him. Yassen had bought it for him on the way to the Grand Canyon and given him strict orders to never lose track of it again. After Kingman, Alex didn’t need to be told twice.

“And your gun?”

A touch more reluctantly, Alex nodded and lifted his shirt to prove he had it on him. Despite warming to his body temperature, the metal of the petite .22 caliber resting near the small of his back still prickled against his skin. He’d been equal parts baffled and unnerved when Yassen had bought it for him this morning. Did Yassen not realize how often Alex was high or did he just think the risk of outside danger that great? 

It was funny, really. MI6 had knowingly sent him into danger more times than Alex could count, yet had adamantly insisted against arming him. Yassen’s goal was for Alex to live and die safely behind a desk somewhere, yet insisted he “be prepared” just in case. Safety wasn’t a feeling he even remotely associated with the weight digging into his back anymore. He knew his own limitations, or at least, knew enough about them to fear what finding out otherwise would mean. 

Julius giggled behind him.

“Good. I’ll enter first and ensure everything is safe,” Yassen told him, checking his clip discreetly out of view of anyone walking by the car. He tucked it into the holster under his sweater and glanced at Alex. “Follow when I text you.”

Alex glanced around the street and nodded. “How long will you be?”

“I’m not certain. Assume an hour,” Yassen said. With one final glance at the road, he got out of the car and crossed the busy street, disappearing into the darkened interior of the store without so much as a nervous twitch. Either he was extremely confident that he wasn’t walking into a trap or was a brilliant actor. 

Alex let out a sharp exhale. It was probably fine. Yassen was a pro at this sort of thing. If he didn’t think there was a threat, then there probably wasn’t one. That didn’t stop the surge of anxious adrenaline, however. What if Yassen had miscalculated? What if they missed something? If Scorpia attacked them while they were split up, there was little Alex could do. Kingman had given him hope as to him still being able to handle himself, but that had a pretty swift time limit. He was almost entirely dependent on Yassen for help. Even if he had strict orders to respond to a panic text by finding the third coffee shop to the east of his current location and waiting there, that didn’t mean Alex had many options should Yassen fail to handle the situation on his own. What if Yassen got arrested and Alex didn’t? He’d certainly try to break the man out, but doubted he’d succeed. What if Yassen got shot again?

It wasn’t an actual panic attack, but Alex counted to four anyway. Trouble wasn’t here to distract him, so it was back to controlling his breathing and outright denial. 

Feeling a bit better after a handful of minutes, he leaned back in his seat and watched people trickle by on the sidewalk beside him. His phone vibrated, disturbing the silence. 

**All clear. Come inside.**

Alex took another deep breath before shoving open his door and stepping out onto the street. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took a deep breath. Glanced around wide eyed and bit his lip. Just a timid kid in a big city for the first time. 

Yassen waited impatiently for him at the entrance to the shop. Holding the glass door open for him, he led Alex towards the far counter and into a roped off hallway without a word. For his part, Alex tried to match his silence as he walked past the various browsing patrons, refusing to betray his anxiety where anyone else might see.

A tall man with caramel hair waited for them in a back room, dressed in a crisply tailored suit and scribbling something on a digital tablet with a stylus. He seemed remarkably proficient at it, despite being in his late forties. Alex returned his polite nod, not bothering to conceal his curiosity as he looked around. Unlike San Luca’s office, which had been packed full of various size printers of varying ages, Ferri’s workshop was spacious, tidy, and ultra modern. Black casing seemed to be the norm for all of his equipment, contrasting sharply with the sterile white walls; Alex’s head spun trying to guess what each machine did. Inks and dyes were stored in clear containers against the wall, each stacked neatly atop each other and clearly labeled. 

A woman with Cleopatra-like hair darted past them without giving them a second glance, tattooed arms laden with fluffy blankets printed with Dragon Ball Z characters. 

“Nicole,” Ferri called out in French without glancing up from his tablet. “Don’t forget to close out register four before you leave for lunch.” He glanced up and fixed Alex with a considering look. “How tall and natural hair color?” he asked Yassen, still in French and otherwise behaving as though Alex had all the intellectual capacities of a statue.

Alex stifled the urge to respond peevishly in the same language, letting Yassen do the answering for him. Like with San Luca, Alex intended to listen in unobserved.

Even if the temptation to stick out his tongue was overwhelming.

Ferri finished typing something and nodded to the assassin. “It shall not be as complicated as I feared to establish your records and procure the proper documents, but it will still take about a month to push through my channels. Quality is king, especially if you intend for this to last him his lifetime. I wish I’d gotten a month’s notice to get this started.”

Yassen folded his arms. His face was impassive, but Alex had gotten good enough at reading him to know that he was annoyed. “I tried to contact you weeks ago. You’re a hard man to reach these days.”

“So are you.” Ferri scoffed and waved a hand at their surroundings, lips twisting in a light show of resignation. “I’m not thrilled either. This is a tacky city full of tacky people, but at least I don’t have Scorpia agents nearly exposing my operation every other day.”

“Oh?” Yassen asked, voice light.

The man fixed him with a scrutinizing look. “I assumed this was why you’d left.”

“I retired for other reasons,” Yassen said easily. Alex pretended to be enamored with a nearby printer spitting out YuGiOh! posters. “It seems I chose an opportune time to do so. I’m always interested in gossip, though.” 

Ferri snorted, a thin smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Evidently, so was he. “Well, there won’t be much left of Scorpia for very long, I should think. The authorities seized several key operations and records. Malagosto is shut down. Twenty separate operatives were nearly apprehended on my doorstep before I decided to cut my losses and stop accepting Scorpia contracts. I only deal with independants now.”

Yassen raised his eyebrows. “Twenty? That many?”

“Incredible, yes?” Ferri consulted his tablet and shook his head. “They used to be my biggest client and now? Practically gone.” He shot Yassen a careful look. “You’re lucky you found me at such a slow time. I would have turned you away just for being associated with the former board. Nothing personal, of course. You’ve always been reliable.”

“I do appreciate it,” Yassen said, in a voice that conveyed the bare minimum of gratitude. He leaned against the blank stretch of wall behind him. “If the organization was so crippled, why does it still exist? Surely the remaining gangs would have fractured back into splinter groups around their original leaders.”

Ferri snuck a glance at Alex, who was allowing his gaze to wander as though the adults were discussing nonsense and he was too bored to even pretend to pay attention for the sake of politeness. He turned back to Yassen and stated, “Now, I have been avoiding direct contact, but I still hear things. Gossip of the most speculative variety. Nothing verified, but quite interesting.”

At the obvious disclaimer, Yassen waved a hand. “I understand.”

Ferri shrugged, clearly warming to the topic. “There’s been talk of new recruits to the executive board. Fresh blood was the intent, but it seems bringing in outsiders did no one favors. Two of them have already been arrested after failing their assignments and the others don’t seem to be faring much better, despite the full support of Dr. Three and Chase. At least, those operatives that I spoke with mentioned a lot of internal resentment, especially towards the remaining acting board. Why look outside during these trying times when there are many eager for promotion from within? Even those loyal operatives preferring to remain followers balk when asked to trust leaders without established histories. Combine that with the occasional power grab and what’s left of the organization is in upheaval.”

Yassen’s gaze didn’t so much as flicker. “How interesting.”

“It really is.” Ferri raised an eyebrow, risking a quick glance at Alex before shifting his focus back to the contract killer. That was probably wise. He waved a hand. “I was surprised to hear that you hadn’t made your own play. You’d make a natural fit. Many expected it, given your popularity. In fact, I’d say several of the operatives I’ve relocated have expressed disappointment.”

Leaning against a table, Alex remained ever careful to show zero interest in the conversation. So most of Scorpia didn’t know that Yassen had been in prison. Perhaps the board simply hadn’t wanted to make their failings public. That was why they had agreed to leave Alex alone for so long, after all. Why hadn’t anyone else noticed Yassen was missing for so long though? He was a top operative, according to Blunt and now Ferri. Important. 

Had no one reported it?

Alex bit his lip. Assassins worked alone, almost by definition. Yassen seemed to have a lot of contracts, at least from what Alex could tell, but had never mentioned any partners. His stories about his dad were entirely oriented around training. Maybe he moved around so often that he was only known by reputation even within Scorpia itself? If he was, that reputation had to be impressive if what Ferri said was true.

Yassen himself shrugged, his disinterest obvious at the implied question. “I’m retired,” he repeated. “At my age, I have little desire to put up with the demands of clients.”

Ferri scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Hardly. Maybe you’d prefer to let some foolish twenty-year-old take your place on the other side of a rifle, but you’d be the youngest board member in Scorpia’s history apart from Julia Rothman.” He paused, before tapping the screen of his tablet sharply. “It wouldn’t be a hard case to make. You’re one of the longest standing members, apart from the training staff. Most of them were arrested anyway. You have a long history of success. There would be a lot of support among those loyalists unhappy with the recent changes.”

“Having support isn’t the same as having an interest,” Yassen pointed out, crossing his arms loosely in front of him. Something hard entered his eyes. “And I have none. What else have you heard?”

“Nothing substantial,” Ferri admitted, gesturing Alex towards a dropcloth and snapping a quick picture with a tiny digital camera he pulled from a nearby container. Tucking away the device, he added, “Everyone in and outside of Scorpia is keeping an eye on that situation with the Russian Mafia, though.”

“Oh?” Yassen didn’t sound more than passingly interested, but Alex noticed him stiffen. 

His stomach sank. If Scorpia had ties to the Russian mob, would this complicate Alex’s already strained history with the Ark Angel project? That was a lot of overlap to ignore. Of course, that was on top of the Sarov issues too. Perhaps Russia wasn’t viable after all. Yassen couldn’t be very happy about it; he’d seemed sold on going to Russia since day one of their escape. 

Not that Alex blamed him. He missed his home too.

Ferri raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard?” At Yassen’s silence, he went on. “Just whispers, of course. Unmet obligations. Shackell closed that deal with them a few years back to handle their international affairs; I had to do a flood of Russian passports for the organization because of it. Apparently, Scorpia’s coverage has been slipping and the Russians are very unhappy with the results. There’s talk of them declining to renew their contract. It’s not surprising, with half the organization locked up and agents defecting right and left.”

Yassen shifted slightly on his feet. “I suppose not.”

“Since you’re headed to that region, I thought you may want to know. Perhaps there will be freelance work for you if you decide against retiring permanently.” Ferri gave a dismissive wave of his hand before handing Yassen a plain white card, suddenly all business. “Here’s my new routing and account number. Payment is half upfront and you have until midnight to complete the transfer, same as before. Normally something of this depth would take about ninety days, but for you, I’ll put in a rush order. Text me the rest of the health details you’d like established sometime this week. Russian medical histories take only a few days, so if it takes you awhile to find the time, there’s no need to fret. The dual citizenship is the tricky part but it can certainly be accomplished. Give me thirty days total.”

Accepting the card, Yassen nodded politely and gestured Alex over to him. “Very well. I’ll be in touch.”

  
  



	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Conversations and chaos this week. As always, I had a lot of fun writing this. Ten points to anyone who can spot my little homage to pongnosis's Devil and the Deep Blue Sea in this chapter!

Sunbleached mountains flickered by as the parched highway led them further from the city. When he’d decided not to prompt Alex in French, he’d understood that he was essentially relinquishing control over how much information the boy had and how he’d receive it. It didn’t trouble him. Alex was better off understanding the danger and Yassen didn’t believe what was said would contribute negatively to his mental state. Yassen made no effort to discuss what he’d overheard, however, already locked in his own thoughts and calculations. 

Dealings with the mafias of the world were hardly unusual for Scorpia, but the proximity that this had to their destination could be problematic. If the Russians were hesitant to sign, Scorpia would absolutely muster their efforts to covertly force their hand, possibly using their own operatives. Yassen hadn’t been remotely involved in Shackell’s deal, but he’d been responsible for facilitating several similar financial transactions and assets. The lowest cost ongoing-services contract he could remember seeing with any criminal organization large enough to be called a mafia was for 10 million euros. It could easily be ten times that amount.

Yassen drummed his hands against the steering wheel, picking an eastern bearing highway at near random. It was impossible to be certain, but with Yu’s Snakehead crippled and Rothman’s European interests in flux, it wouldn’t surprise Yassen if Shackell’s deal made up the majority of Scorpia’s income on the Eurasian continent. 

The assassin on the cruise ship had mentioned the Russian mafia. It had seemed like a poorly formed lie at the time, but now he wasn’t so certain. What did Yassen have to do with any of it? He had few interests in the region, had barely visited for work, and yet Scorpia had reason to connect them? Why?

A horrible thought occurred to him. His stomach actually churned. 

Ferri had said many people within the organization had expressed a desire to support him in a bid for power. What if Dr. Three’s goal on the cruise ship hadn’t been to forgive Yassen, but to  _ promote _ him to the board?

Alex was watching his knuckles tighten against the steering wheel with open anxiety. Yassen forced his grip to relax with a soft exhale. He wasn’t delusional enough to think Dr. Three would allow him to return to the organization unscathed unless he was certain Yassen was under control. At best, by cooperating, Yassen would wind up a puppet executive meant to appease the old-school operatives. With the mafia breathing down the necks of the current board, Yassen would become a sacrificial lamb without any alliances to protect him: either he would establish a branch of the organization on his own that could handle the demands of the Russians or his failure would be used to justify the need for more “new blood”. 

Or Dr. Three wanted his actual blood, for whatever was swimming around inside it. 

Yassen promised himself a cigarette the next time they stopped for gas.

Alex gnawed on his lip. Yassen had noticed that anxious habit forming, but said nothing. At least he was leaving his nails alone. “What’s got you so worked up?”

Yassen’s glance flickered over to him. “I’m fine.” 

Alex shifted in his seat, before letting out a sigh. “Is it because of the Russian Mafia?”

“How do you mean?”

Alex scowled and rubbed his arms. How could he be cold already? If anything the car was too warm for Yassen’s liking.  “I don’t know how likely they are to recognize me after the Drevin stuff. If Scorpia and them are working together….”

Yassen shook his head. “That’s not how contracts work. Yu’s Snakehead had information on you because he was a board member. Shackell has ties to the mob, but those are simply relationships. They don’t fall under his command directly. When it comes to clients, Scorpia will get the job done, but won’t freely share information with anyone unless they are specifically paid to. It’s bad for business if your clients can solve all their own problems.” He spared a glance at Alex, noting that the tension hadn’t entirely erased itself from his light frame. “I’m more worried about the odds of increased Scorpia operatives in the area,” he admitted. “But even that’s unlikely to be a problem.”

“Why?”

“You heard Ferri. Scorpia handles their international affairs, not domestic. Normally speaking, most of their operatives would be anywhere but Russia. If they are spread thin, they likely won’t be able to pull operatives already in the field.”

Alex hummed, chewing that over in his head and sitting quietly for a few minutes. “What was that about people wanting you to be a board member?”

Yassen shrugged, wincing as the highway dipped slightly around a mountain side and threw the sun in his eyes. He dug around the center console until he found his sunglasses and slid them on. “Rumors, little Alex. Ferri has a vested interest in flattering his clientele.”

Alex didn’t so much as blink. “Do you think they’re true?”

Sneaky little bastard. Yassen grimaced, caught in his misdirect. “Perhaps.”

The boy leaned against the window and propped his chin on his fist. “What’s the matter? Wishing you hadn’t retired now?”

“Hardly.” Yassen snorted. “By getting hit with one bullet, I dodged another.”

Alex grinned. “You’re welcome. Anyway, I didn’t realize you had such a hard time saying no to people. I’ll remember that.”

Yassen gave him a look, but it didn’t seem to discourage the boy in the slightest. “Either answer would have been a death sentence. At worst, prison was boring.”

Alex squinted at him. “A death sentence? I thought being a board member meant you’d be in charge. More powerful.”

Yassen considered him briefly. There was no harm in explaining and it might soothe some anxiety. Minimize uncertainty, in Dr. Wood’s terms. “Saying no would have made them question my loyalty. I can hardly argue I’m unqualified, after all, and they would have never believed the truth. Most assassins don’t live long enough to retire, assuming they intend to in the first place. The profession doesn’t exactly attract those who plan that far ahead. It would appear more likely that I was going to leave the organization to work for a rival. Any nomination from within would also require a majority board vote rife with the usual politics, so declining such an offer would, by definition, mean disrupting the plans of more than half of the current board. I’d be dead before the week was out.”

“So saying yes would be the only realistic choice.”

Yassen snorted a second time. “Not remotely. Whatever stability previously existed is clearly gone based on what you and Ferri both say. I worked under Julia Rothman more often than not and thus don’t have any alliances with the remaining board. Any made after my nomination would come at my expense, given the obvious disadvantages I’d have. I’d be more puppet than leader, but possibly one with protection. Barring that, I’d end up a scapegoat or a casualty of someone else’s agenda before I managed to build up enough actual support to stabilize my position.”

“You’ve really thought this through.” Alex said after a long moment.

“It’s come up before,” Yassen said shortly. “And it made me consider retirement.”

Alex was quiet for a few moments. Squinting as the car rounded another curve, he shielded his eyes from the light and said, “Wait. I thought you were going to retire after Cray. He seemed to think you were. Wouldn’t Scorpia have killed you anyway?”

Yassen shook his head. “I was to be listed as his permanent consultant on behalf of Scorpia. That was our deal. It’s the only real way to retire without getting a kill order in return, apart from faking my death.”

“That seems like a lot of work.”

“Getting shot was easier.” Yassen agreed. “Disappearing is the better bet.”

“In Russia?”

“In Russia.”

Alex gnawed on his lip a second time. “Which you’re sure I haven’t ruined?”

Ah. So that’s what the boy had been anxious about. “You’re only as likely to be identified by Scorpia as I am,” Yassen pointed out. “Neither of us really makes it any worse.”

The silence was easier this time. Rest stops and gas stations spontaneously appeared and disappeared along the side of the road as they went along the otherwise uninteresting highway. Red rock and flattened mountains erupted again in almost cheerful memory of the grand canyon as they crossed state lines amid the setting sun. Traffic picked up as they approached a handful of medium sized resort cities. Finding an exit, Yassen switched on his turn signal and merged carefully, mostly in an effort to not wake Alex.

He needed have bothered. At the change of direction, Alex rolled over in his seat and yawned. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he mumbled, “Where are we?”

“St. George.”

“Where’s that?”

Spotting a national bank, Yassen pulled in and turned off the car. “Southern Utah,” he said, pushing open his door. He paused, realizing he should probably set some expectations if he was going to be gone longer than a minute or two. Ferri’s payment might be a little time consuming, especially without the usual forms of identification. Managers would have to get involved. “I’ll be back in a while. Figure out where we’re going to eat.”

Alex sat up in his seat with a yawn, glancing around. Yassen didn’t even want to guess where Alex’s convoluted food-selecting system would lead them to this time. 

True to his prediction, managers did have to get involved: three, to be precise. Mostly this was due to his refusal to show them any actual identification, but once the representative of the Swiss bank assured them they would cover the liability for Yassen’s account, the money was promptly withdrawn and routed with the American bank acting simply as an intermediary. Taking the chance to withdraw more cash for travel after paying Ferri, Yassen waited impatiently as the latest manager returned with the bills. It had only taken forty five minutes and Alex was more than capable of entertaining himself, but Yassen already had plenty of things to consider.

The middle aged woman bustled in, pastel pink pantsuit fluttering around her as she counted out the bills onto the surface of the desk. She rather reminded Yassen of a pepto bismol colored moth. “Will that be everything, Mr. Wexler?”

“Yes, thank you.” Yassen accepted the bills and stood. 

“Oh, you almost forgot this.” She handed him the little white card Ferri had provided him with his routing information. “Have a good evening.”

With a final nod, Yassen strode out of her office and through the lobby. He glanced down at the card. Ferri often split payments between various accounts to minimize the risk of tracing should one of his clients try to burn him. The number would likely be useless in a day or so anyway. Stopping by a trash bin, Yassen folded it neatly in half.

A faint snap. 

Yassen stared at the card in his hand, brows furrowed. The pretty bank secretary watched him attentively from her perch. A stab of paranoia erupted in his stomach. Had she marked him? It took him a moment to realize that the bank had simply closed five minutes previous and she was probably waiting for him to leave so she could lock the door. Hurrying out, Yassen returned to the car and studied the card. 

Alex sat his seat up. “What’s the matter?”

Yassen didn’t answer. Instead, he trailed his finger over the crease he’d made in the small rectangle. There. A small prick, just the faintest hint of a jagged edge. Whatever he’d snapped in half was in the center. Most people wouldn’t have noticed the snapping in the first place, but Yassen wasn’t like most people. Peeling back the paper around it, he eventually exposed a tiny, flat square of circuitry, exactly the same color as the paper. Practically weightless.

Alex met his eyes. “A tracker.”

Yassen tossed it out the window, seething with a cold fury that made him grit his teeth to keep it from spilling out. 

Ferri had sold him to the highest bidder. Or planned to. If all had gone to plan, Yassen would have discarded it by midnight so whatever his location was worth, it would only have value until then. Someone would be here soon. Worse still, Yassen was out a quarter of a million dollars in a payment he now couldn’t afford to halt. As much as he wanted to return inside and demand the branch manager to stop the transfer, getting the Swiss bank representative on the phone and going through the entire series of verbal identity verifications a second time would cost him time he and Alex didn’t have. 

Scorpia could be on it’s way now. 

Throwing the car into reverse, Yassen scanned every car and pedestrian as they sped back onto the street, headed for the highway. Concern for standing out was a thing of the past. Yassen would rather get stuck dealing with a police officer than stick around for whoever was prepared to intercept them.

Alex gripped the grab handle as Yassen sped over a speed bump without slowing, wincing as they bounced. “What does this mean for us?”

“It means Ferri double crossed us and whoever he did it for is already here,” Yassen snapped.

“Scorpia?”

“Most likely.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Alex said. The boy craned in his seat, obviously trying to get a good look at all of the surrounding cars for signs of pursuit. Unfortunately for them, rush hour had swept over this section of the interstate: while they weren’t bumper to bumper, traffic was thick enough that Yassen couldn’t speed much further beyond the legal limit without resorting to ramming another car. Alex’s eyes narrowed as he pulled out his iPod. “Dodge Charger, three rows back. Dark blue and kind of roughed up?”

Yassen glanced in his rear view mirror. “Good eye. What else do you notice?”

Alex took his eyes off the car long enough to give him a look. “Are you really going to turn this into a lecture?”

“As much as I hope you live the rest of your life without needing to spot a tail, we just lost our planned identities. It will take a while longer.” Yassen told him, merging sharply into the HOV lane and speeding up. He glanced over at the boy. “Also, seatbelt.”

Alex groaned. Yassen heard his buckle click a second later. “There. Happy?” 

“Marginally. At least you’re not high this time.”

“Kind of wish I was,” the boy grumbled. Alex turned back around to look out the rear window, holding up his iPod’s tiny screen to consult in real time. “Two men, both caucasian. Military, maybe. Definitely watching us. One’s talking into a phone. Scouts? Infrared isn’t doing so well with all this movement, but I think both of them are armed.”

“How does the car itself look?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does it look like all the other cars to the scanner?”

Alex frowned and swiveled the little device. “Yes?”

“Good,” Yassen said. At least something was working in his favor today. “It’s probably not armored. They must not have had much time to prepare. This will make things much easier.” 

Finally reaching the edge of the traffic, Yassen stayed in his lane long enough to shoot past a line of long haul truckers, before switching lanes abruptly. Shielded from sight, Alex turned towards the front of the car and gave Yassen a startled glance. The trucker now behind him gave him an annoyed blast of his horn, but otherwise didn’t make an issue. Maybe it was because Yassen pulled out his handgun a second later. 

Alex started as Yassen rolled down his window. “Watch the road for me,” he told the boy. 

“Wait,” Alex snapped. “I’m not positive they’re--”

“They are.” 

The Charger sped into sight a split second later, obviously trying to find their boring little sedan amongst the thinning traffic. The passenger’s eyes widened as he took in Yassen, beretta ready, before a quick shot punched through the window and caught the side of the driver’s temple. 

It was a risky move with an enormous payoff. 

Driver limp across the wheel, the car immediately shot to the side, bumper slamming into Yassen’s side of the sedan before ricocheting off into the concrete barrier that divided the interstate. Metal crunched and shattered as the Charger spun beneath the big rig, rolling under the massive wheels. The semi rose, it’s enormous tires spinning on air before abruptly turning onto its side. Breaks shrieked and squealed, horns blaring as the cars around them responded in panic. 

More metal impacting metal.

The wind snatched the sounds of chaos away as Yassen withdrew his gun, refusing to slow. 

“Jesus,” Alex muttered beside him. “Now I know why it’s called riding shotgun.”

Shuddering, the sedan blazed forward, though Yassen was certain it didn’t have more than another few miles before it gave out. Most of the damage was to the body, but the shuddering let him know that at minimum the suspension had been damaged, if not snapped an axle. He’d have to take his chances and get off at the next exit to switch cars, but for now they weren’t actively observed. Unless Ferri had managed to plant a second tracker, the only way their pursuers had to find them now was to make visual contact. 

Alex rubbed the side of his head. It must have slammed against his closed window when the charger struck him. “How many cars was that? Eight?”

Yassen winced. He was such an idiot. Just how much could such small but regular impacts like that might complicate the boy’s neurological health? It certainly wasn’t the first time Alex had gotten bumped in the head because of Yassen’s driving. How could he have forgotten? When he’d made the decision to shoot, he’d only considered which side of the car would impact and since it wasn’t going to be Alex’s, had assumed it was worth the cost. Whiplash hadn’t even occurred to him. 

Yassen set his jaw. He had to be more careful.

The next exit materialized. Yassen swerved across three lanes to make it, which was unshockingly easy given that the majority of cars were now piled up a quarter mile back. On the edge of town, this exit offered a main road which branched into a residential farming area and a gas station. Driving another minute would probably take him somewhere with more options, but Yassen wasn’t willing to waste a second. The risk of the car failing them on some stretch of the highway was too great.

He pulled into the gas station and slammed on the brakes. “Out.”

Alex didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed both duffel bags as Yassen strode up to the only other car, a shiny black pickup truck with a multitude of custom painted flames and shiny rims, parked in front of the convenience store. 

It was hardly ideal, but it would have to do.

A fat bearded man with a Utes baseball cap sat in the driver’s seat, bored and obviously waiting for someone inside. He was thoroughly unprepared to have Yassen rip open the door and snap the exact same command. 

“Don’t--” Alex hissed from behind him. Yassen didn’t bother looking behind him to respond.

Eyes widening in outrage, the man took in the Beretta aimed at his chest with just enough time to avoid saying something he’d regret. He would never know how lucky he was: Yassen was thoroughly prepared to shoot anyone causing him delay. Alex could get upset all he wanted later-- a panic attack and some trust issues were infinitely better than capture by Scorpia. 

The man essentially fell out of the car in his hurry to abandon it. “Don’t shoot! Just take it!”

“Other side,” Yassen ordered Alex, noting that the keys still in the ignition. That saved him some trouble. Climbing in, he kept his gun in sight of the backing up man and checked his surroundings. Through the glass window, a woman crouched in one of the aisles as the cashier spotted what was going on and reached under the counter to hit some kind of alarm. Leaving witnesses was sloppy, but Yassen didn’t care. Time was more valuable right now than secrecy. The CIA could have all the surveillance footage they wanted so long as Alex and him were long gone by the time they connected them to the carjacking.

As soon as Alex’s door slammed shut, Yassen was off, headed for the highway and pushing the stupid truck as hard as he could. They were at the gas station for less than a minute in total, but Yassen found his sense of urgency growing. This truck was a nightmare. It had been recently gassed up and could drive, but there the list of benefits ended. The pickup’s appearance was one of the most ostentatious displays of male insecurity Yassen had seen on their little American road trip thus far. Driving a glow stick would have been less conspicuous. As irritating as it was, it was his only option; he’d just have to swap it out another few towns from here. 

So far, no signs of their pursuers. With their change of ride, Yassen figured he had another ten minutes to put some distance between them and their pursuers before they popped up on their radar again. Every minute counted.

Alex, meanwhile, had shut his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Yassen was almost tempted to think he was asleep, except his lips were moving, forming inaudible words.

“What?” Yassen demanded, not realizing how furious he still was until the word has left his mouth with all the grace of a snarl. He tried again, managing to even out his tone to something less aggravating. “I can’t hear you.”

“One, two, three, four,” Alex murmured, just loud enough to be heard. “One, two, three, four.”

Yassen gripped the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. It was fine. He’d handle it.

 


End file.
